...let me tell you a story.
When in high school I had my own bedroom with a door to the back yard. I lived in California so rarely wore shoes.
One night I had to take my trash out before the cans were put on the street got emptying.
It was about 9pm and a lovely summer night. I grabbed the bag, hopped out side, strolled across the patio on the grass.
I believe my dad was beside me before my third scream. I was afraid to move but more afraid to put my feet on the grass.
My dad carried me back to my bedroom and as soon as my feet touched the rug, I was racing to the bathroom.
After tossing my dinner. I scoured the bottoms of my feet.
From then on I put shoes on to go outside at night.
The next day I saw masses of crushed snails.
It took a long time for my brothers to forget this story.
For me, I really don't ever go barefoot at night.
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