As nighttime draws the curtain on yet another humble day kissing and licking the shoes and boots of my betters, I humbly reflect on my lowly life. I feel privileged to be a public humble-head, kissing the feet of my superiors and getting to know their socks. Sure, if I was a personal footslave to a master or mistress I would become much more intimately acquainted with their feet and footwear – particularly their smells ! But ‘variety is the spice of slave-life’, as they say, and as no two pairs of socks are the same, I certainly get to observe a lot of variety! Every stitch, every crease, every area of bobbling on my esteemed customers’ socks -some of whom are regular visitors to my confined face, others just ships that pass in the night – is worthy of my slavish praise and adoration, since it is a feature of the sock of one of my betters, I being inferior to all ! It's an invaluable lesson for a slave to learn – his innate inferiority, not just to his customer masters and mistr
