What a sexy... blister you have!

My less than sexy, unmanicured, flakey, blistery foot.

I went to the Mill Avenue Borders again tonight to do some shopping. Thinking the H.P. guy would be there, I was hoping he would autograph my copy of The Prisoner of Azkaban, for shits n' giggles. He was not there. A girl who kind of looked like a red-haired version of him helped me instead.
Anyway, after cruising around and picking out several books (see Jennsylvania for this little gem), I stopped by the cafe to pick up a latte. As I was handing the girl behind the counter my card, a strange man sidled up beside me, so close that he was touching my arm. Some people seriously have no sense of personal space. I moved over a bit to give him some room and took my card and receipt from the girl. Again, he was touching me. Then in a half whisper he said, "I'm sorry. I was looking at your feet. So small. Pretty." UGH! Completely creeped out, I side-stepped away from him again. He said, looking down at me feet, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Foot fetish... ", and then something garbled and trailed off. At this point the girl behind the counter, hearing this, tripped over something and redirected his attention to her. I used this as my get-away. Armed with scalding hot latte in one hand and my keys in another, I dashed towards the door, eying that guy the whole time.
I have never been so nervous walking to my car and all the way there the blister on my foot was screaming, "How do you like me now, FREAK?!"