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Do you have dancing shoes with nimble souls?

Sometimes, when I least expect it, I am asked to remove my shoes when I enter a house. I realize that it is polite to accede to a request like that, but if it is framed as an orbito-facial suggestion rather than a verbal demand, I fear that I often pretend to have averted my eyes au moment critique, and so do not expose my socks to critical analysis. This may seem rude but, although I try to ensure that my upper costume is appropriate for friendly visitations, I seldom count socks as likely members of my voluntarily revealable accoutrement. The only part of a sock that is designed to be seen is the part that sticks up above the shoe, eh?

Of course, I understand the concerns of my hosts -okay, I try to understand their unreasonable frittering about marking their freshly polished hardwood floors, or staining their newly acquired child-labour-woven Persian carpet, but I am still troubled that they make demands on me before I even have a go at their precious floors, covered or not.

There was a time when I might have considered the entreaty pretentious, even jejune (I’ve always wanted to use that word)… But not anymore; not since I was apprised of the fomitic dangers of shoes. I mean, it should have been obvious that shoes will go where anything else fears to tread -well, except boots maybe, but I make a point not to wear boots when I’m invited out for dinner. Hosts certainly have every right to interdict shoes -or boots- in their kitchens or wherever, but some sort of cleaning apparatus (a bristle doormat springs to mind) near the entrance might be a more polite introduction to their uber fastidiousness.  

But doormats get dirty too, and who knows if the shoes pretending to wipe themselves actually do a thorough job. I am reminded of the practice of merely sprinkling water on your fingers after a trip to the washroom which probably cleans nada. Anyway, despite Lady Macbeth’s advice to her husband after he has killed Duncan that a little water clears us of this deed, household mats don’t come with water or anything; besides, there are seldom any floor mirrors provided to check for due diligence.

Still, you might be wondering why I am suddenly cathecting on sole sanitation after all these years of careless disregard for what I step on in my peripatetic retirement. Well, I inadvertently wandered into an essay in a Smithsonian Magazine that seemed bothered with the trail of filth potentially left where shoes walked. To wit ‘shoes-carry-poop-bacteria [blush]-into-NYC-buildings-study-finds’[i]. It was a hard title to ignore, especially when I looked down from my seat at my well-shod feet -well, just the tops, actually…

I admit that my imagination often outpaces my reason, but the article made me think of all the other dangers we tend to ignore, or at least skirt on a daily basis. Covid taught us the value of frequent and careful washing of our hands after touching stuff; of keeping our fingers away from our faces -especially our noses, for some reason; and being more careful in public places where viruses and other germs wait in ambush.

But I do have to ask myself whether the rural setting in which I have been so long ensconced, has the same amount of treadable fecal matter as in New York City. Our native fauna tends to hide in bushes during those embarrassingly vulnerable episodes, and most locals have trained their unleashed dogs to do the same. But I suspect that tourists do not regard our forest trails to be as sacrosanct as their neighbourhood sidewalks.

Then, a truly innovative idea -albeit unbidden- surfaced in my aging brain: footie bags. I mean at the beginning of many trails are those little dispensers for doggie bags, as well as clearly marked containers for their disposal. So why not twin each of them with shoe cover dispensers? ‘In case you plan to visit one of our village restaurants’ it could advertise with a little multigendered happyface. Different colours or racy designs could be offered to add to compliance.

And, in a considerate gesture to our multi ethnic trail visitors, the signs could also be in other languages to let everyone know that they were welcomed. Flower beds in the immediate area, too, could add to the ambience, and engender a soupçon of guilt should the signs be ignored.

Failing that, perhaps there should be a mandatory shoe warning signs at the door for all patrons of our local coffee shops, even if they come unequipped with a dog. After all, doormats would have to be changed hourly at busy coffee shops.

So, mindful of their city origins, perhaps unbagged feet should be cautioned that they might be required to undergo random shoe checks -and mandatory de-bagging should be enforced for the more cooperative tourists before being allowed inside. Locals (the obviously unbagged ones) could be encouraged to wear bright, innovatively coloured, locally-knitted socks which they could flaunt to show their neighbourhood origins in the unlikely event that they were inadvertently mistaken for tourists. It would obviously be a boost for the local cottage knitting industries, and helping to hand spin the yarn may be something to keep their children home in the evenings. Win-win, eh?

Of course, these ideas will certainly seem unduly intrusive to those visitors who value their independence; those who are certain they know the contents of their soles because they would never choose to step on, well, stuff; and they would never volunteer either to look, or to allow anyone else to do so. And besides, nothing smells or anything, eh?

Science is often like that, though, isn’t it? Absence of evidence is not the same of evidence of absence… or does that even work if nobody even volunteers to look for it…?

[i] https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/shoes-carry-poop-bacteria-into-nyc-buildings-study-finds-180981680

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