I have a weakness for well-arched, painfully skinny 4 inch heels in a way as if my intelligence depended on them. Inevitably, I have amassed legions of Foot-philes with a soft spot for my well-heeled appendages. And what do they say about shoe-philes; is that beneath the heel of every successful Shoe-phile is a dedicated Footphile.
A Footphile, like people with most forms of philism, are attracted to feet, in the same way some men are to big boobs, rebonded hair and plastic nails. I wouldn't call a Footphile a Fetishist, because then you'd conjure up the images of strange men with froth at the corner of their mouth, wear their pants at chest-level, and who overdosed on colgate and peanut shells as an infant.
No, in fact they are well-heeled, god-fearing and normal looking professionals who would make my obsession with stealing toilet papers from library toilets look dangerous and abnormal.
So on a lazy Sunday afternoon, I was having a normal serious conversation with a Footphile when it expectedly steered towards him volunteering to bring me shoe-shopping. My dwindling collection of kick-ass boots and 4-inch heels has to be replenished just so that he can polish them for me. Talk about taking boot-licking to a whole new level, which I basically interpreted as:
"Free fashion advice, new sinful heels. Oh and being unconditionally worshipped."
With that part of the conversation starting with "You are the enigma of Goddess Isabelle", I was pretty much sold on the idea.
Footphile: I want to be your BBS - Best Boy Slave. That is how it's meant to be. Damn, maybe it shld be BBSF.
Me: Huh? What is BBSF?
Footphile: You know, it's like BBF, Best Friends Forever.
Mathematically, B(BS)F, where F is substituted by BS, and the outside B and F remain constant.
So that makes me your Best Boy Slave Forever.