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I just walked out to my car barefoot. I know… I don’t need a lecture on the dangers of walking barefoot through an apartment parking lot. It’s a risk I was willing to take.

I made it to the car just fine. However, on the way back… I was not so lucky.

My foot made contact with what I can only image was a slug. Contact isn’t the best word, I suppose. No… I didn’t just make contact with him. I felt him smash, squash, and explode into the spaces between my toes. After I shed a tear for the slug, I started to do the one-foot-hop back inside to get him out of between my digits.

As I scrubbed what was left of nature’s booger off of my foot, I started to think about the experience of the incident. Here I was cleaning a carcass off my foot and all I had done to bring death to the little guy was walk. I didn’t go outside with the intention of killing anything. I was just going to grab the headphones for my iPod. Instead, it turned into a massacre of the sticky, bloody variety.

Is this what Godzilla feels when he goes tromping through Tokyo? Is he simply trying to make it to Krispy Kreme… or to get his headphones? Maybe it’s all a big misunderstanding. Or maybe, like myself, he gets a kind of sick pleasure out of the feeling of things squishing around between his toes. I mean… size-wise it’s relative: me… slug… godzilla… human. See?

It’s a double-edged sword. The slug is no longer with us (well… he’s with me… in a very disturbing way). But don’t ya just love the way stuff feels smashing around under your foot? Or is it just me?

P.S.: If the slug is too disturbing for you or against your religion, you can substitute something else for the purpose of nicety to nature (and the ick-factor of having guts on you).