You all know how I endeavor to educate you in some small way, to provide you with some tidbit of useless useful information that you might share while idly standing at the office water cooler. While this one isn’t as interesting as say, the time we all learned about Spider Prostitution, it is worthy of sharing with you, and perhaps with your friends and coworkers. However, it does relate in a small way to office attire. Just wait, you’ll see. And you may never be the same. (I haven’t been, but then again this has been “a thing” for many years and, much like spider prostitution, I only learned about it much later in life. It’s likely you are more in touch with the world and already know about this.)
The day I learned about Toe Crack, also known as Toe Cleavage.
While standing around with a group of friends and acquaintances, I notice the acquaintance in front of me is staring at me feet. He’s staring hard.
To give you a little background, this is a “business casual/dressy” environment and I’m wearing an unremarkable outfit, common office attire. And a pair of blue suede, closed-toe pumps.
Pye and my blue suede shoes, with toe cleavage. Pye has a shoe fetish.
The guy briefly looks up to my face and promptly declares he loves how my feet look in the shoes.
This was more than your usual, “I like your (shoes/hair/eyes)” comment. He was practically salivating, much like someone who’s just seen an ice cream cone for the first time after months of sweltering hot summer. But, wait! There’s more…
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me.
It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.
I apologize for the delays between posts. Things have been too busy (one of the reasons is detailed below). I’m also starting a new venture which, if it goes as planned, will mean more traveling for me. *happy dance* I will keep you all posted… pun intended.
The RV park I moved in to less than two months ago has lots of well-maintained grass, a few highly desirable trees, laundry, rec room, a pool, and a river running along the edge of the park. By the looks of it, the park is lovely… from the outside.
It stayed that way for my first seven weeks there, until the owners decided to move in a large group of pipeline welders working in the area. But, wait! There’s more…
Announcer’s voice: “We interrupt our regularly scheduled post on Lake Havasu to bring you a more pressing issue. The post on Lake Havasu will air shortly. No posts will be missed.”
Slab City, California. An oasis in the desert.
You won’t find Slab City, California on a Google map. A place in the middle of the southern California desert, it is not recognized by the government as a city or town. There are no sidewalks, no electrical power lines, and there’s no running water. From November to April approximately 3,000 snowbirding RVers arrive to camp out the winter. There are an estimated 100 year-round residents.
It’s a land with no rules where the residents rely on a code of honor. Not everyone is honorable.
For all it lacks in amenities, Slab City, aka “The Slabs”, has quite a bit to offer: two libraries, two night clubs, two churches, several kitchens providing free meals, and five social clubs. There’s an 18-hole golf course, although the back nine are a bit rough. There’s a hot springs pool and a “shower”. The shower is the drainage-ditch runoff that comes out of the hot springs.
I’ve been golfing everyday on the grassless sand and gravel course. My golf buddies and I are most appreciative to Bob and Nancy Unden, a couple from San Diego who built the wonderful 18-holed oasis in the desert.
But from now on I’ll stay far away from the hot springs.