Smelly Feet

Delight of my life.

This little boy has hundreds of aggravating teenage-type habits, one of which is touching the ceiling, touching overhead room fans, touching the top of door jambs  -- all the stuff that was unreachable last year.

As we gathered for breakfast he paws at a room divider and I ask him to quit.

"Why?"
"Because it's soiling the ceiling, making it dingy."

The cocky lawyer, he retorts:  "My hands are cleaner than the ceiling."

And he's right; another of his aggravating habits is neurotic hand-washing.

"That's true, your hands are cleaner", I concede, "so that means you're getting your hands dirty."

At that moment, Mary & I have a Vulcan Mind Meld and begin laughing.  We know what happens next.

Jonathan dashes to the sink.

-----

At 13, Jonathan's becoming conscious of his appearance.

At the same time, his  chemistry is changing.  His feet stink; his socks stink; his shoes stink.

He's had me buy foot powder and sole inserts, but nothing works.

Last night -- Sunday night -- he announces that he's going to wash his sneakers in ammonia and soap.  He scrubs away and leaves them out to dry overnight.

On the ride to school this morning:  "My shoes are still a little wet."
Then two minutes later, "My shoes are really wet.  I guess they'll dry as I wear them?"

I hardly mattered, the air was unbreathable.  The stench was overpowering.
I'm afraid to say much, because he's so sensitive.

"The smell is very strong, Jonathan.   Let's drop off Mary, come back home and switch into sandals."

He agreed and his eyes said he was really grateful for Dad.