I have a secret. It�s my secret. I�m good at keeping other people�s secrets but I�m not very good at keeping my own secret. That�s why I only have a secret. But I do have at least one secret�at least until you read this.

Actually, it�s really not very much of a secret. It�s not a secret from Kat, but then it involves Kat. Still, it�s not Kat�s secret, it�s mine�but, in a way, it�s my mother�s fault. Isn�t everything Mother�s fault? (Hi, Mom!) My secret is that I torture Kat almost the way my mother used to torture my brother. Sometimes when Kat and I are alone, Mr. Foot talks to her.

Perhaps you are puzzled. Perhaps Mr. Foot did not live at your house. He lived at mine. He used to live in Mom�s shoe. He would shed his shoe and his sock and he would talk to us. Most of us considered it playful. I think my brother considered it playful, even when he was a teenager. That didn�t save him from being a bit irritated. Kat has a similar reaction and I�m just mean enough to consider it fun to get her.

Sometimes, bringing Mr. Foot out to play is just too difficult (or, as at the table, too gauche). Heaven forfend that Kat consider herself safe at such times. Just because she�s eating her snack at the kitchen table right after school is no reason to declare her off-limits (although her being in a bad mood is such a reason.) That�s okay. My Mr. Foot has a pal that Mom�s Mr. Foot never had (although, unlike Mom�s, my Mr. Foot is not married to Mrs. Foot.) If Mr. Foot is not available, the lucky teen can talk to Mr. Thumb.

If you interviewed Kat about all Mr. Foot (or Mr. Thumb), she might tell you her mother is crazy (but it�s the rare teen who wouldn�t be tempted to take such an opportunity.) She might tell you that she�s the victim of boredom�her mother�s. She might tell you that tiredness rots her mother�s brain. If she were on a superior kick that day, she�d tell you that she puts up with it because mothers need their fun. She has a large enough vocabulary that she might even tell you that she wishes her mother would give up the foot fetish (knowing, of course, that she was stretching the meaning of �fetish.�)

But I�ll tell you another part of the secret. If Mr. Foot and Mr. Thumb suddenly disappeared, Kat----my dramatic Kat, my Kat who loved puppets and puppet shows--- would miss them. Somewhere, deep down, she�s looking forward to a summer of Mom in sandals with Mr. Foot readily available. Because, despite herself, Mr. Foot makes her laugh.

And that�s why I do it. With two daughters full in the throngs of adolescence, there are times I need to share a laugh.

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