many years since i was here; on the street, i was passin’ my time away

If getting what you want is something you insist upon (not unlike that spoiled, bratty child in the Wal-Mart who cried when his parents wouldn’t buy him green ketchup, screaming so loudly that I had no alternative but to throw a can of Van Camp’s Beanee Weenees at his head when they weren’t looking), and if what you want is for me to hate you (also not unlike that child in the Wal-Mart), then allow me to suggest a means of going about it:

As a man, don’t wear socks to the airport. Then, remove your shoes anywhere other than the security checkpoint.

What the hell is wrong with you people? No — repeat, no — ticketed passengers in the immediate gate area (at least 30 minutes prior to departure) want to see your crusty, flaky man toes, nor their accompanying yellow, fungal nails. Cover that shit up.

This goes for you too, women over 45. Your old woman toes are at best only marginally better, aesthetically, than man toes. And at worst…

Well, it’s best not to think about it.