How does your foot taste?

(If you don't like feet--sorry! I can assure you these ones are very clean. And, have you noticed, crossed feet are heart-shaped? Awwww.)

I have an outspoken student who occasionally says things he doesn't really mean to verbalize, and usually some other student will say, "Hey, how does your foot taste?"

I could tell you how feet taste. I still remember, from my early (early) childhood when I went through a minor (minor) toe-sucking phase. It was mostly just a celebration of the discovery that I could get my foot so near my face. But that isn't what the expression means. It means, how does it feel to say something stupid?

I could tell you that, too. To me, saying something stupid feels: right. It feels like coming home after a long trip, and settling into your slouchy futon. Real familiar and comfortable.

From Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon, I talked to one person and one person only: the woman who works at the video store (she's essentially my drug dealer, and FNL is the drug). Today, it occurred to me that I hadn't spoken to anyone I knew in days, and I was craving social interaction. So, I marched right out into the world, and I said some dumb things. Not majorly dumb, just foot-in-mouth dumb. What surprised me is that, as soon as I felt the familiar flush of confusion and embarrassment about minor, awkward miscommunication, I realized that that was the very feeling I had been missing. I was home! My foot was back in my mouth, where it belonged. I was out in the mix, and making a bit of a mess of it.

Sure, there are people who always say the right thing at the right time, but they're not very interesting. And I bet they can't get their feet anywhere near their faces.