My late friend Dick who died a few years ago in his early 90's hated wearing shoes, but would don a pair of sandals on occasion if the situation warranted it like in a restaurant where you wouldn't be served without some sort of walking apparatus.
His feet were nothing short of grisly, having trod over sharp gravel and hot pavement for years, stumbled over barbed wire, and tanned in the sun until they were practically blackened. His callouses were rock hard, like little concrete pillows.
And his toenails....they would make a podiatrist recoil with just a mere glance at them.
So it sometimes presented a dilemma when he would appear as a guest in someone else's shoeless home. He had no shoes to remove and would plow forward into the living room dragging in all manner of fungus, dried leaves, smashed bugs, and whatever else he had clinging to his feet as he passed other people's snappy looking shoes lined up in the hallway.
Dick would have admired Senator John Fetterman, another nonconformist who just wants to be comfortable.
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