1 comments/ 14739 views/ 4 favorites Your Poor, Aching Feet By: NassauHall I finally finished the invitation to the opening. This could be our biggest show ever. What's the topic? What's making it so big? A big show for a little museum. Don't laugh. Shoes. Shoes? Well, they're compact enough that you can get a lot of them in there. I'm not laughing. Look how well the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum does. It'll have that kind of feel. All kinds of shoes and artists' interpretations of shoes. You'll see everything from ancient moccasins to Manolo Blahniks to concrete boots from a movie. He sleeps with the fishes kind of shoes. Right. And drawings and sculptures and even some knit shoes, like blankets for your feet. You'd like those. We've even got a tape recording of Ed Sullivan saying, "We've got a really big shoe for you tonight." You'd have to be 50 or over to get the joke. Maybe I should say it's a big shoe for a little museum. I have a question. OK. For the opening, everybody's going to be very aware of the shoes they wear. So, what will you wear? Something you already have or will you get some special shoes for the show about shoes? What would you choose? Something comfortable! I'm on my feet for the whole opening and my feet get so tired. Never a moment's rest. So no high heels for me. I know you'd like that, though. Not the time to live out a "Sex and the City" fantasy? Not while I'm working. Put me in heels then and I'd fall over by the end of the evening. Face first into the punch bowl? More likely I'd knock over a Warhol display. If you did wear heels and I was there, you could excuse yourself to go rest in your office and I could give you a foot massage. That'd perk you right up and then you could be the hostess with the mostest. Tell me more about that. About what? About the foot massage! Oh, that. Well, we'd have to do some advanced planning, knowing your feet would be sore. It would have to be a special foot massage. I think they're all special. And all the other massages, too, I hope. They are. What kind of planning? You could stash away a bottle of massage oil. Any kind you like. Maybe baby oil. Olive oil if you want something tasty. You could put it in your desk where nobody would see it. And where it wouldn't spill on your high-end Mac graphic design computer. That's all easy enough to do. That's all? You might want to bring a towel, too. Why a towel? To drape over your office chair, in case the oil starts, you know, flying around. Foot massages can get drippy. Just the oil flying around? Aren't you the coquette tonight. What else could happen? We've barely got to the office. I don't know what could happen. Help me fill in the blanks. Just the blanks? Stop it! Tell me some more. I'd see you at the opening. You'd have your name tag on and I'd have mine. We could pretend we don't know each other, and we could circle around and pretend to just meet. I'd compliment you on the show and ask what you do there. You'd say you were a graphic designer and I'd say, My, what a great poster and promotional materials you did. The poster caught my eye at the train station and I had to come over here. I never knew shoes could be so artistic. You'd laugh modestly even as you run your eyes over me like a hungry bird of prey, looking for a snack. You want to be devoured by me? During an opening I do get hungry. Yes, think about just snapping me up. Remember, we're strangers, you're curious, you're surrounded by coworkers. Maybe you feel tired and a little daring after all the work of getting the show together. Mostly my feet hurt. And that's what you tell me. You offer to give me a tour of the offices -- you've worked there a long time, you can wander around with guests of, well, potential. I could be a big donor. I know what you want me to say, but I'm not going to say that. Say what? You know. Sperm donor? You said it, not me! Perish the thought. We're looking at each other and like what we see. Would you like to see where I do all my creative work, you ask. Sure, I say, give me the grand tour. We get refills of our wine glasses and I take you upstairs to my office. I doubt anybody's up there. To everybody else it looks innocent. To everybody else it is. You've worked there a long time, anyway, you know your way around. My office is one of the few enclosed spaces, where I can close the door. A window looks outside on a park but tonight it's dark. It's fall and we can hear the wind rustling through the trees. Some moonlight comes in through the branches. You're setting a pretty picture. I've already got a bottle of baby oil in my desk. I've got a beach towel, just in case. Just in case of what? In case I decide to go to the beach. Now what? We're in your office. You close the door, but you don't turn on the light, since the moon and a street light provide some illumination. We can find each other in the dark, anyway. Practice makes perfect. I tell you I'm glad to get away from the noise and the crowds and the need to be engaged all the time during an opening. And my feet hurt. That's why we're up there, to take care of your aching feet. What are you wearing? I've got on my shoes that are a cross between style and comfort, but the style overwhelms the comfort after a while. I have on a silk blouse and a knee-length skirt. I'm comfortable enough except for the shoes. I sit in my chair and lean back and close my eyes. It feels great to be off my feet and sitting for a while. Then I get out the bottle of oil. I don't know what you're going to do. Or maybe I do. I sit on the floor in front of you and take off your shoes. You like that. First I run my hands over your feet and around your ankles. I hold one foot and then another in my hands to you can feel the warmth. I move my hands around them. The circulation starts coming back. It feels great. You can put some oil on my feet. I say that's a great idea. You plug your iPod into speakers and we start to hear music by Bruce Springsteen. A good mood setter. You always said that he was the soundtrack of your life in college, when you were the Jersey girl going to Harvard. You must have been quite the rock and roller in Cambridge. Hardly. I spent more time at the co-op, making all-natural vegan meals. Work with me here! Anyway, you've got Bruce on and you like that. None of his depressing music. Only happy music. But we can't put it on too loud. I wouldn't want anybody to know we're up there. You think people would be shocked? I wouldn't want that to happen. You've got to be professional. My feet are really sore by now. You'd better get going or I'll have to put my shoes on and get back downstairs. Thanks for reminding me. I have your shoes off. You are wiggling your toes, happy to have them free from your shoes. You like wearing sexy shoes but they're not very comfortable, especially when you're working. I'm sitting on the floor in front of you. I put some oil on my hands and start stroking one of your feet, starting with the ankle and then drifting toward your toes. I hold your heel in my hand and move my hand up and down your foot, and circle your ankle. I'm not in any hurry. You lean back in your office chair and sigh. The noise from downstairs sounds farther away. The music and the feeling create our own little nest. I'm feeling more relaxed than tired. I can feel your fingers between my toes, rubbing the oil in. It feels great. I do one foot and then the other. You seem much less tense. I put more oil in my hands and move up one of your legs, up to your knee. I do long strokes up and down your calf to your ankle, sometimes firm, sometimes with the back of my hand. Does it feel like I'm diddling your leg? Sometimes I go down to our toes and slip my fingers between your toes, where I know your skin is very sensitive. What does that feel like? Very nice. Nice like what? Like you're fingering my twat. Now I'm getting very relaxed. It's getting warm in the office. I like what you're doing and. The skin between my toes is so sensitive! I never knew that. I stretch my arms over my head and arch my back like a big cat. I almost want to purr. You can. Purr all you want. You've got a cat. You know what they sound like. Purrrrrrr. You can stroke my fur anytime. Oh and you might notice there's none of it on my legs. I shaved them just before the event so that massage oil skims right over them. Now I wonder how high you went. You'll have to find out. What a vixen! I'm stretching still. The silk fabric on my blouse pulls when I do that. Your hands are moving higher on my legs and I'm feeling a little bold, even with the people at the party below. I undo a button on my blouse. You notice this and put your hand on my chest, below my throat. You rub some oil on me there and it's like a warm patch spreading across me. One hand on my thigh -- you've moved that high up now, and another making lazy circles on my chest. Then you undo another button. You're feeling exposed. You feel OK. Yes. You kiss put your hand on my neck and kiss me. Our tongues touch. I feel you all over me. Standing up, I can feel you hard through your pants. My Barneys suit doesn't hide very much, does it? I have my special woman's x-ray vision for those matters. A girl can tell when a guy's getting turned on. I'm pretty obvious. You always have been. You're back down on the floor now, sitting closer, and you are massaging my thighs now. I fold up my skirt so you can see what you're doing. I look down and see you very intently smoothing oil over the tops of my thighs and all around, so that I'm actually pulsing, it feels good. You're pressing firmly on me and now your thumbs are slyly going higher and higher on my legs. That really tingles. You tell me to undo another button on my blouse, but I don't know about that. I like the idea of you playing with me while I still have my blouse buttoned up. So we leave it like that. But you run your hands over your silky blouse and bra. You massage some of the oil on your chest and under your bra straps. While you're doing that, I lean over. I want to kiss your thighs. They are so smooth and shiny now. I'm feeling pretty urgent about doing that. No little soft kisses this time. I have my fingers resting on the edge of your panties and I'm kissing you high on your thighs. I move them open so I can kiss you all over. Then you put your hand on the top of my head and very lightly push my head closer to you. You must like what I'm doing. Stand up, I tell you. This surprises you. You stand up and I pull you toward me, between my legs. Your crotch is almost at face level. Let's see, I say, what do we have here? I run my hand over the front of your pants. You're pretty hard. I'm feeling a little reluctant but very curious. The party sounds are dropping away. I feel you jump when I touch you that way, so I do it again. You gulp. Then I throw my arms around your waist and hug you. I lean over and put my face against your crotch. I can feel you throbbing. This is fun. Are you having fun? I'm sliding around in my chair at the thought. I'm feeling awfully daring, but graphic designers CAN be that way. We're so creative, so I unbutton and unzip your pants so they fall down to your thighs. Your cock is so obvious in your underwear. I would hope so. Now you're the one who's exposed. I'll just go all the way, so I pull you out of your underwear the way you like me to. I run my fingers around and feel how it curves a little. That always gets to my G-spot, you know. I didn't know that. I'm learning something every day. I lean forward and kiss the tip. You shiver when I do that. You always do, until you get into the rhythm of it. I like looking at you up close. It's so different and textured and . . . Jewish. I lick you all around like it's an ice cream cone. Vanilla topping, eventually. And I'll add the sprinkles on top. I close my eyes and kiss your cock again. It's getting wet and I let some of slide into my mouth. You like that. I can tell by the way your hands stroke my head. The way you massage my neck. You like feeling my head move back and forth on you. You get harder every time I move my head. How that happens is a wonder. I'm looking down on your head, how you completely control me. I want the moment to last. I can feel a little surge in me. This won't take long, but I don't want you to stop. What a dilemma. The moonlight casts our shadows on the wall, two shapes blending and moving together, arms and legs dancing around each other. Why's it a dilemma? You can have your fun. And it's what I want to do. I want to keep playing with you. They must be missing us at the party. What if somebody comes looking for us? I'll say I'm working on getting a very special donation. Donors have individual needs. I'm a woman on a mission. I know how much you like this. You just want to wait so somebody will find us! I wouldn't want that to happen. So you can lean back and relax. Relaxing is the last thing that happens in this situation. So, here we are. You're licking your ice cream cone, I'm running my fingers through your hair. I can smell your perfume wafting up. Something enchanting and very feminine. I feel a little strange, standing there with my pants down and my cock sliding in and out of your lips. I want to look around and make sure the office door is closed. Then I want very much to see more of you. Your blouse is unbuttoned, so I slip it down past your shoulders. You have such delightfully soft and curved shoulders. All that yoga keeps them in great shape. I can sense us as one big curve, from my cock to your lips to your tongue to your shoulders and down the curve of your waist to the lips of your cunt curving in and out. You're a Botticelli come to life. No straight lines anywhere. Your hands feel warm on my shoulders. You're massaging my skin around my bra straps. Your fingers stroke my shoulder blades and forearms, then curve around on my neck and back to my shoulders, following the curve of my breasts. I am curvy and the way you follow my curves turns me on. More turned on than the big shoe show? I'm honored. Seriously, I can tell you like that. You always like how I stroke your skin. You are getting turned on the same way I am. You use your mouth to pull me into you. I can feel your tongue going in circles on me. My heart rate bumps up. My toes wiggle in my shoes. I'm standing up so I can't move too much. You've got me there like your very own statue of David. He was Jewish, you know. I know. I've seen it. The party sounds far away but something tells me we'd better get our show back on the road. I take you out of my mouth and wrap my hand around your cock. My mouth got it nicely wet so my hand slides up and own it. I know the kind of sensation you like. Your cock against my cheek feels nice. It's so hot -- physically warm, really -- and hard and, well, different. I look up into your eyes. You look back and me and blow a kiss to my mouth, which had been kissing you. I like that look you give me. You once said after I've licked you, you can still see a ghostly image of your cock resting on my lips, like a blurry photograph. Hmmm, I'm thinking of your hand on me at the moment. That's no ghost. Now I'm bouncing on my heels. This is so different from lying down on the bed. There, I can sprawl around. Here, all my energy focuses in on my cock and your movement. I'm intensely aware of everything going on in that little space where we connect. You're looking at my cock now, like something from another dimension. It's hard but flexible in your hands. You can move it around, up and down. I increase my pressure. Your hands hold on to my shoulders. The fingers are strong. Then you massage my neck. I know what you want. I lean over and kiss you some more, to tease you along. You jump I hear you purr. I open my mouth so the head of your cock goes into my mouth. I close my eyes and feel so connected, so there. I can't describe it. You're responding to me, to what I'm doing. I have you. I can taste a little drop of you on my tongue. Some vanilla. You know how to whip up a batch of ice cream. You take your lips off me and move your hand up and down on me. Without thinking -- I'm moving on instinct now -- I put my hand on yours so I can feel what you're doing. My other hand strokes your neck. Now I'm tingling all over. Your soft cheek brushes against my cock, like velvet against me. Like satin. Like fine wool from the Sheep Breeders conference, shearing competition and barn dance. Oooh, now you're talking dirty to me. Sheep. Baahh. Aaaahh. You're on the edge now. I can feel it. And with a little lick, taste it. You're blushing when you say that. Such an innocent. I'll bite you if you keep talking like that! Your fingers feel so strong and tight on my shoulders. You're holding on and pulling me toward you. My panties are bunched up around my calves. We're both exposed. I'm holding and stroking you with one hand and I move my other down between my legs. Yes, I'm wet. I tell you that, how excited you're getting me when we're making love like this, how I can't wait for your fingers to open me up and fill me. That's all I needed to hear. Your words go right into my brain and I feel a flood starting in me. It's like an irresistible force that takes over and I can only ride on the crest. My eyes close tight and I say your name. Forgive me if I clutch your shoulders like they were handrails on a stormy ship. Now I'm very excited as you start to come. I tighten my hand around your cock the way you like it. You're bucking in my hand. You're a full boy! I grab a tissue from my desk and hold it on my chest, sort of like a target, and hold it up against your cock so your explosion doesn't go all over the office. Right, we don't want wet spots on your blouse or cheek where those museum donors might wonder what's going on. You planned ahead well. I wasn't thinking about how we'd handle this little matter in a public place unless, of course . . . We'll save that for later. You start bucking against me and then your back arches and you start shooting out on to the tissue. My hand moves up and down on you, urging every little drop out., I see lots of drops. That sounds like Dr. Seuss, drops on pops. Pops drops and then she mops. We could do a book like that and get a famous artist to do the illustrations. We could do a groovy feminist version and call it "She Pops and He Mops." That would show a real respect for the female orgasm and show males taking responsibility for clean-up activities. Should it rhyme? I'm thinking more of the pictures. Do you feel like your popping when you come, like you're a balloon that's been pumped up and then you let the air out? I don't know if I like that image. It's more like a landslide. The rocks get to the top of the hill and then slide down, picking up speed as they go along. Maybe for me the right image is a steam boiler about to blow up. I feel more and more pressure until -- kaboom. Well, back at the museum you've gone kaboom very nicely into the tissue. That was some boiler explosion. You hold my hand against your cock and sigh. I move my hand a little and you shiver. I get another tissue and mop up pop. I don't see any stray drops on my blouse or chest. But I do see some on your cock so I lean over and give it a kiss and a lick. Tasty. Eek, I'm so sensitive, it's exquisite when you kiss me then. I love looking at your lips on me, drinking me in, like you're a cat licking a bowl of cream. Purrrrr. You stand me up and we hug. We feel very close. If somebody walked in, we'd look very ridiculous. My blouse is undone and pushed off my shoulders, my undies are pulled down. I'm sure my hair is a mess. Your Poor, Aching Feet My mess. But no, your hair looks great and anybody who walked in would see a museum graphics professional with a potential donor. And I'm there with my pants around my ankles and my shrinking cock hanging out of my underwear. But we're happy. Are we in a hurry? A little bit. Those art patrons demand my presence. Any minute now I expect to hear a knock on my door and somebody saying, "Are you in there? Are you OK? Martha Stewart wants to compliment you downstairs on your curating, and she has her checkbook out!" All kinds of nice things are getting whipped out. I've already made my museum deposit. I suppose the only bank you could take it to would be the sperm bank. I'm liberal, but that's not a kind of wealth I want to spread around. I'm greedy. I'll keep it all to myself. That's the plan. Now, if I recall, speaking of wealth, you have a certain gold mine that needs some TLC. I wouldn't want us to return to the reception without it being explored. There must be some riches in there ready to come to the surface, with a little attention. Your pickaxe is a little wilty by now. Can you manage to dig around? A miner always has more than one tool on his belt. I can think of several. What's your preference, my dear? How are you feeling now, our clothes all askew here in your office with the moonlight pouring in. I'm pretty excited. That foot massage got me tingly all over. But I'm a little chilly. Can you warm me up? That's a great idea. I sit down on your chair. I'm glad the beach towel is on it -- I'm drippy and male still and I wouldn't want to stain your Aeron chair, which I know helps you be creative. I pull you to me. You snuggle on my lap, flesh to flesh. I slip your panties off and your dress covers us, your bottom warm and soft against my thighs. Maybe the pickaxe won't be so wilty after all. Let's give it time. You're leaning against me with your arms around my neck. This feels good. Are you warming up? Yes. You are so hot. It's like sitting surrounded by hot water bottles, in a good way. I can feel the heat radiating off you. I could drape wet clothes around you to dry them off. The human clothes dryer. Very energy efficient, but only under special circumstances, like after you raise my temperature. I'm not like that all the time, you know. Only a special gal can crank up my body temperature. I crank it up with your special crank. The heat is taking the chill away. Your arms fold around me so I feel enveloped, safe. We're kissing, lightly. You have a good male taste, with a little overlay of the shrimp downstairs. Our tongues touch. You stroke my neck so I move closer to you. You arrange my blouse so it covers my shoulders again and that keeps me warm. It feels a little strange to be sitting in my office with no panties on. I thought you do that all the time. Only when you visit me. I see my panties on the floor, a little puddle of silk. If I need to put them on fast, I know where they are. You're shifting around in the chair, your cock throbbing a little. You move a little so your fingers can reach under my dress. Then I feel your hand on my thigh. You're tracing up and down like you were before. I like that and you're not being too slow about it, either. I think we're turned on enough to get past the preliminaries. Not entirely, but we're ready. You're such a feast spread out. I could lick you, I could finger you, if we waited long enough I could get hard and be in you. We could do all kinds of things. But we can't take too much time. The office has so many hard surfaces. Don't these things come with a couch? Or is that only in the executive suite? Not in my office. We need more time and more towels. Now I'm feeling a little stymied. I certainly can't leave a damsel in sexual distress. That's just not right. No, it's not. I could bend you over my knee and spank you. That's not going to get me to come. More the opposite -- try that and I won't come, but I WILL go! How wet are you by now? I'll check. Pretty wet. That's good to know. You snuggle on my lap some more and left up. You get yourself centered. I feel your fingers around me, that female instinct for guiding the male home. Pursing your lips and closing your eyes in concentration, you lower your bottom down. Down a little more, too the right. You are holding my cock just right, straight up, and then I feel your warm wet tight flesh touch and snuggle and enfold me. Funny, how I am so aware of your knees at this moment, how they touch my sides and seem to hold me steady. Then I'm aware how connected we are. I'm in you. Your hands touch my chest through my shirt. You've got me hard again and we've docked. Sex dock-ters, that's what we are. You'll need to wash your Dockers after this. Maybe not. I might keep them for a special sniff now and then. I know, I'll wear them to the house when I pick up my son. You think his dog would notice? I'm noticing, and that's what counts. I love the feeling of being connected like this. You're warm and pulsing in me. With my legs to your side my clit feels very open and exposed. I lean forward to kiss you. My breasts strain against my lacy bra when my chest touches yours. Then you wrap your hands around my back to pull me closer. Your little thrusts upward give me a shiver, as you wedge a little deeper in me. I take your hand and put it where your cock and my cunt meet. I guide your finger to my clit. We lean back from each other so you can see us. Down there, tangled up in hair and come, is where all the nerve endings meet. I move your fingers on me. You like that. I close my eyes and feel your fingers working on me, slowly. It's not like we have anything else to do now. This feels good. It feels like you're all over me, beneath me and above me and on me and in me, all at the same time. Your fingers form a "V" around my clit and steadily move up and down around the skin. Not on the clit, that would be almost too sensitive, but teasing its sides, slipping sometimes on to the top of my thighs, pressing my pubic bone. It's like 10 hands on me, feeling my everywhere. My fingers touch your cock when it goes in me and the sensation of hard and soft together is wonderful. We fit so well together there. Tongue and groove, the carpenters call it. I'll get my tongue in your groove soon enough. My mallet in the groove is working nicely at the moment. I'd like to have your tongue and your mallet working on me. We've done that before. That would take more acrobatics than we can handle in your Aeron chair -- best to be lying down for the advanced stuff. Even sitting down, I can be flexible on you. Your hand reaches underneath so you've got fingers on my clit and then fingers stroking my ass. I'm so open now. You run them over my cheeks, lightly then firmly. You're very naughty, you know. And I like you that way. Mmm, that way does feel good. I can feel myself pulsing, opening and closing, like some undersea flower. Your fingers are getting closer together as you caress me from both sides. My cunt and my rump are both tingling now. I wiggle around so you can touch me harder. You get the message. You're probing me, making me wetter. Your wet fingers are pulling on my cunt lips, stroking my ass so I almost can't stand it. And all the time I'm pushing down so your cock goes way up into me. I'm getting a little delirious. My innards are tightening around your cock to I can pull it into me. I can barely tell where I end and you begin. We're that intertwined. Lips and tongues touching, my cock straining up into you like a . . . what? A totem pole? A Saturn booster rocket? A giant head from Easter Island? From Hanukkah Island. Yes! That's it, the giant head from Hanukkah Island is poking way up inside me. It escaped! That sounds like a great museum exhibit. Erotic art from the mythical land of Hanukkah Island. The land of Jewish sensuality. Right, a giant head in your petite flower also from Hanukkah Island. They both escaped and made their way to the museum. I think that describes your office. That's all I see right now, through my foggy glasses. The office is getting very hot. Hot office, hot bodies. It's a hothouse for your Hanukkah flower. Hot and hard parts, some of them. Yes, hard and soft and open. I try to imagine the view from below, you sitting on my laps, my fingers all over you, circling around and making you nutty. We've got the show on the road and something tells me we're getting close to the grand finale. I feel myself slowing down. I'm not bouncing so much on your cock. I've almost stopped. We just rock together, like birds flying together. Your fingers are slowing down on my cunt lips, a lingering rhythm of touch that presses into my clit, guarding it, pushing it out. Your other hand underneath find a place and you press me with a thumb, an all over feeling I've never had before. I'd blush if I thought about what we were doing, but I'm beyond feeling silly or embarrassed. I just feel. And I feel totally in the moment. There's just you and me, our bodies, our breaths. Your fingers in me, my cunt in you. I like that idea. I'm as much in you as you are in me. I'm very into you. Wherever I can be in. Everything is moving slowly. Your lips press against mine, urgently. Your arms wrap around my head and back. They press me to you and I feel like you're swallowing me up. My face, my cock, my fingers, everything is merging into you and you, the flower, devour me wherever I touch you. A wave starts to shake me. My cunt muscles tighten, my ass tightens up, I go from being soft to rigid. I'm drawing your cock as far up into me as I can, your tongue, too, and then I'm coming, waves rippling through me, so I'm turning inside out. I'm just melt and freezing at the same time. Your cunt is like a vise around me. And your ass grabs my hand. You're so strong when you come. It must give you superhuman strength. All I can do is hold on and moan and kiss you hard, really hard, to keep from going crazy and yelling out and getting all the guests running up. That would be embarrassing, to have everybody banging on the door and asking what's going on, "Are you OK?" Are you OK? I'm great. You know just now to move your fingers after I come, to keep stroking me but not so hard as to make me jump. I get little extra come waves when you touch me and cup me. Your hand covers my cunt. It's warm and protecting. Your other hand holds my tush cheek and I can feel your heat coursing all over me. Let me nestle against your chest. Ahhhh, that's better. I'm relaxed from head to toe. Those toes, that's what would get us up here in the first place, you needed your foot massage after a hard night at the museum. You got hard. Then you made me soft and melty. I did my own melting, butter all over the place. But no spots on us. I would wish we could leave this reception and go home and put on our jammies and do this all over again. Once you get me thinking, I wouldn't be able to stop. We'd know the reception would end soon. We'd get cleaned up and stuff ourselves with more sushi and I'd circulate a little longer. Sushi's an aphrodisiac, you know. So we'd eat a lot and get your stamina back. We'd have come too far from Hanukkah Island to stop now. It would be time to get dressed? I guess so. I'll be ready to go corner Martha Stewart and get that checkbook out of her pocketbook. We're all making our donations for the cause. We've had our big show at the big shoe show. Let me slip your shoes back on. Now that's service with a smile. I'll have the happiest feet in New York that night.