As I leave the house for a stroll with Liam, I'm hearing my wife's words echo in my head. "They won't let you into ____", where ____ is whatever store I'm on my way to -- Whole Foods, the taqueria, etc. I worry on my trip that she may be right. Am I going to come home grocery-less and sans burritos? A complete failure as a father? My wife was good enough to take a picture of this failure-in-making on my way out the door.
I'm thinking at some point in history, bare feet became associated with poor or crazy or both. Poor because you're crazy, or crazy because you're poor. Any shopkeep worth their salt would do their darndest to keep these miscreants out. The good news seems to be that times have changed, at least here in San Francisco.
Whole Foods? Nothing but broad smiles and "What can I help you find?". Taqueria? Two burritos, no waiting. Ha-ha! Now mad with power, I'm going barefoot everywhere on the weekends. I got in 5'ish miles last weekend tootling around the city.
My wife is still not particularly happy being seen with me. She let me know this in no uncertain terms during last weekend's trip to a furniture store. She claimed that nobody approached to help us because she was with a crazy man. Maybe. I interpreted it as politely waiting to help us at the slightest indication. This is still the topic of lively debate. If anyone knows folks who work at Room and Board in San Francisco, please ask them and let me know.