I'm thankful for and spoiled by keyboards. Otherwise, I don't think I would write much. My hand cramps.
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Please take off your shoes. I don't know what streets you tread and drag into my home. What gum you stamped or spit you squished. What shit may be encrusted between the crevices of those soles. Please, take off your shoes. Did you not notice the heap of shoes at the front door? Because I noticed that your dirty-ass shoes left prints down the entirety of my hallway carpet to the bathroom I kindly let you use. Take off your damn shoes. And please don't shake your head in negative condescension, bitch and groan as if I'm breaking your back when you reluctantly untie your sneakers and reveal your holed socks. Yes, I prefer your stinky feet, Believe it or not. Because this is my home you're treading in. My culture you are ignorantly patronizing when you continue walking on top of my nice clean carpet after I've kindly asked you to, "Please, take off your shoes." Because I guarantee your disrespect, condescension, and utter lack of listening skills will come to no good. I will gently turn your ass around and kick you out the fucking door. So, please, take off your shoes.