Dear Ashy-Ass Lady,
Listen… I don’t usually judge folks’ feet—unless they commit a felony in broad daylight. And ma’am… your heels were out here disrespecting the air.
I wasn’t even trying to look down, but your feet caught me slippin’. I thought you borrowed someone else’s heels. Like, seriously—did you trade ankles with a bag of powdered doughnuts?
Look, I get it. We all run late sometimes and forget to lotion up. But you can’t just raw dog the streets like that. The backs of your feet were throwing up chalk signals like they needed rescuing from the Mojave Desert.
Real talk, it looked like you stole a pair of white woman’s feet from a thrift store and wore them out like you got a two-for-one sale.
Yes, my feet ashy too—but I’m in the house, on hardwood floors. You out here in public kicking up talcum clouds like a busted baby powder cannon.
Do better. Respect the crust. Moisturize before you terrorize.
Ashamed on your behalf,
Hollywood Wil
(Proud member of Team Cocoa Butter)
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