Feet!

There are times when I love having big feet. There's something empowering about having bigger feet than someone you don't get along with. Don't get me? Let's go with an example (not based on fact):
You're at the bowling alley with a bunch of friends, including your girlfriend. You get in the door, and some short guido with greasy hair and single frame sunglasses sees your girlfriend and starts hitting on her while you're all waiting in line. You're talking to your friends and giving him the stink eye, but he's not catching on. You get to the register and he decides to invite himself to bowl with you guys. So you get your lane number and the cashier asks for your shoe sizes. Right after the short guy says "8," you stand right behind him and say "13," in the lowest voice you can, and slowly put your arm around your girlfriend. You can see he's getting nervous, and when he sees the cashier put your clodhoppers next to his, which now look like the shoes of a 6 year old girl next to yours, he says, "Alright, catch you later," and then runs off, nervously looking over his shoulder. Yeah, there are times when having big feet is sweet.

And then there are times when having big feet is about as sweet as having a TV that's specially programmed so that all you can watch is reruns of Kathy Griffin's "My Life on the D List."
Take today for example. I work at Trader Joes; a store known for its good prices and food, but not it's wide aisles. When I stock products that are on the lower shelves of the store, I have to get on my knees to do so, thus blocking half the aisle with my outstretched legs and feet. Today, in the minute and a half it took me to stock a case of pasta, two old ladies tripped over my feet, and one of them almost dove headfirst into one of the frozen cases with a loud "Aaahhh!"
So it's really the situations that you find yourself in that determine whether your feet are going to be used for good at your command or for evil against your will.