I get confused about feet. They seem to play a big part in our language.
At school, the games teacher said that I had two left feet. It meant that I was caught on the back foot when he told me to put my best foot forward.
“I want you to play left back today, and try not to put your foot in it”, said the teacher. “If you were a foot taller, I’d put you in goal”.
He told the team he wanted us to play the ball to feet. Then when the game started, so did the shouting. “Get a move on, Fleming, don’t drag your feet. Come on, you’ve got feet of clay.”
I thought about tackling their winger, but got cold feet. At the end of the game I was dead on my feet, and very relieved to take the weight off my feet.
The teacher gave his post-match briefing. “Look, you’re all bright kids. You’ve got your feet on the ground. It’s all about movement. You can’t let the grass grow under your feet. Feel your way into the game; then, when you’ve got your feet under the table, go for it. If you’ve got itchy feet and want to play something else, that’s fine, just let me know.” He was shocked when half the team voted with their feet. Personally, I could see both sides, as I had a foot in both camps.
Despite all this, I did eventually land on my feet. I found I was able to think on my feet, and soon had job offers falling at my feet. Everyone was trying to get me to work for them. In the end I had to put my foot down, and pick the job I really wanted.
Then I met a girl who swept me off my feet. When I dated her, I could afford to foot the bill. Not long after, there was the patter of tiny feet, which meant I was rushed off my feet for a few years. But with all this, I still found time to put my feet up, which was no mean feat.