Excuse Me!

People get very nervous if you walk around with your laces untied. You know, if I walk around with my laces untied.

I take my shoes off at work, and work in my socks. I find it more comfortable that way. I have naturally hot feet, hot in my leather shows. They don't smell, oddly enough, they never smell. I wonder if smelly feet is genetic, or something?

So, if I want to walk further than the photocopier, or even head down stairs, naturally, I have to put my shoes back on. Sometimes, I just slip them on and head to the lift, leaving them untied on purpose. You know, just to see. And it is easier that way.

Oh, I am just lazy, I’ve told you that before. Just slip them on, why bother tying them up if I am just going to take them off again. I always wear lace up shoes, never slipons. I hate the look of slipon shoes. They are for old school gays, or aging car salesmen. You know, for guys who have unbuttoned shirts, and multiple gold chains, who wear too much cologne.

I don't really see what the problem is, I can walk around no problem with the laces flapping in the breeze. I don't know what neurosis is at work there, something from our dim, dark, hereditary past, or childhood indoctrination, but there is always someone, with a furrowed brow and a nervous look, who points and nudges and says, 

"Excuse me, your laces are undone." Nervously. Often more than one person. Sometimes they line up. Well, no, they don’t normally line up, normally.

Occasionally there is a chorus. "Excuse me?" "Excuse me?" "Excuse me?" That’s one after the other in the office, or the tea room, rather than a choir, you understand.

Such childhood trauma, I think as I saunter past, seemingly oblivious.

Occasionally, one will chase me, tap me on the shoulder, and make me see the danger to my life and limb that I am clearly missing.

That always makes me chuckle.

You know, Sandra from reception, who married Brad and had 2.4 kids. Only does it missionary style with Brad on Saturday nights.

Or Gail from accounts, whose favourite expression is “It’s just not right,” whenever she encounters anything that didn’t come in her catholic, not quite middle class suburbs childhood package.

It makes me laugh mostly. What people concern themselves with. Seriously. And if I said mind your own business they would be offended. Of course, I wouldn’t say that, as I like the look of Mothering Sundays plastered right across their worried faces. Of course, I do.