YOUR PERVERTED UNCLE

One of my readers labours under the false presumption that I am quite the elderly degenerate. Perhaps it is my style and subject matter that leads him (?) astray.
But in fact, nothing could be less true; I am by nature a temperate and abstemious man, albeit one with a keen zest for life.
Any perversions I may have are strictly normal.
Almost Anglican in nature.

Even ... feet.

Yes, I like feet. As well as many other things. Feet can be delightful.
A good friend describes them as pedestrian objects, unlovely in the extreme, and cites the garish nail-painted podal talons of many young ladies one commonly sees nowadays as proof of that contention.
Horrid things, unattractive and appalling!
Ick poo.

Good point, but unadorned feet are often so very pretty! How can one consider them vile? Some of my fondest moments involved feet.

I haven't seen feet in so long I would probably throw stones at them.
In a manner of speaking.


To establish the clerical bend of a mild and not really all that probable podophilic aestheticism, let me present the authoritative 'opinion' of a famous man of the cloth:

Anthea bade me tie her shoe,
I did; and kissed the instep too;
And would have kissed unto her knee,
Had not her blush rebukêd me.


-----The Shoe-Tying, by Robert Herrick

[The poet was vicar at Dean Prior for eighteen years (1629 to 1647), then virtually unemployed till 1662, whereupon he was reinstated at the same place. He lived till he was 83, dying in 1674. He remained a bachelor all his life, though judging by several of his poems he may have been a vibrantly juicy fellow. We don't know if he was. I am.]

Well now. That's quite lyrical.  And evinces far more of a foot thing than I could possibly boast.  Clearly our stalwart churchman has a yen for feet that knows few bounds.
Not to leap to any conclusions, but a man who kisses a young lady's foot may be someone to keep an eye on.

I, on the other hand, merely like feet. And hands. And laughing eyes.
Oh, much else also, but let us leave it at that.
This is a good clean blog.

Evenso, I am envious of Robert Herrick.
He at least had a foot in the hand.
Better than two in the bush.


On a final note, and as advice to anyone else who may jump at any chance to seek degeneracy where there is none, absolutely NONE, I shall conclude with another poem by Mr. Herrick.

TO THE GENEROUS READER

See and not see, and if thou chance t'espy
Some aberrations in my poetry,
Wink at small faults; the greater, ne'ertheless,
Hide, and with them their father's nakedness.
Let's do our best, our watch and ward to keep;
Homer himself, in a long work, may sleep.


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