I read an article on-line by Jonathan Kay last October in the National Post. Here’s a quote from it:
When Jang actually met Kim Jong-il, he expected a robust demi-god with sun rays bursting from the back of his head. Instead, he encountered a short, eccentric, doddering, pot-bellied man who spent much of his time playing with a tiny dog.
“As I stand bent double at the waist in a deep bow, my eyes cast down … I can see [Kim’s] feet under the tablecloth,” Jang writes.
“He has taken off his shoes. Even the General suffers from the curse of sore feet! I had always thought him divine, not even needing to use the toilet. That’s what we were taught at school and that’s what the party says: Our General’s life is a continuous series of blessed miracles, incapable of being matched even by all our mortal lifetimes put together … But here I am, looking into his shoes, which have high heels and an inner platform at least two and a half inches high … Although his thin, permed hair adds to the illusion of height, the Dear Leader can’t be more than five feet three inches.”
While it is true that our heroes are fallen by being fallible, I am more interested in the bad feet and shoes of this man, and this reminded me of a comedy sketch where the chap playing Napoleon (or was it Caesar?) said that they simply couldn’t invade a country with uncomfortable shoes. Thank our lucky stars for Kim Jong-il’s bad feet; who knows what would have happened had his feet been happy.
There is a great truth in this – the wrong shoes will ruin the day. This is something women do not seem to understand; look, let’s be frank here, I have been on vacation with women (and everyone knows that vacations means a lot of walking about, don’t they?), but it’s always spoiled by complaints about blisters and sore feet.
SHOES ARE IMPORTANT. They must be comfortable, first and foremost – because you cannot win, you cannot be happy, you cannot enjoy anything with bad shoes and sore feet. It’s a law of nature.
A close second is the snugness of the underpant.
Underpants are very important indeed. I am presently attempting to transition from a boxer back to a snug hipster pant, and it’s annoying; I am aware of my underwear – and no-one ought to be aware of underwear, that’s the thing of it.
Being aware of underwear all the time is Not Good. I have these elasticated hipsters holding me in, and I find it distracting, and uncomfortable. I wish I was back in my boxers, free and carefree again.
I am reminded by a work colleague who wore to work the silk underpants presented to him by his wife on the event of his 40th birthday. He said it was both the longest day of his working life, and the most shamefully erotic too.