“Jesus wore socks with his sandals.”

That was the reasoning my husband used to refute my critique of his footwear. He has a way of taking a position that is nearly impossible to disprove. So this time, I didn’t even try. I was also secretly wondering if I could get away with it—wearing socks with my sandals that is.

You see, I desperately needed a pedicure. I’m not sure what went first, my eyesight or my ability to fold my body into a position required to paint my own toenails. The last time I tried to do it, I almost passed out from the blood rushing to my head as I dangled upside down off the edge of the toilet seat, and holding my readers on my nose with one hand and the nail polish brush with the other. Not only did I nearly pass out—the results were less than optimal. My pinky toenail has shrunk to almost nothing so I didn’t paint it, thinking nobody could see it anyway … Wrong! … they could. So you can see why I was not anxious to repeat the process.

Going to the nail salon is not an option. Let’s just say I had a bad experience a few years ago. I warn you now, if you ever have a similar experience, don’t Google it! One quick search for nail fungus cures and you’ll receive advertisements on your phone, computer, and in the mail until the end of time. Not wanting to repeat that horrible experience, I vowed to never have a pedicure at a nail salon again.

So I’m considering adopting my husband’s, and apparently Jesus’s, style, and wearing socks with my sandals. There’s just one thing that troubles me. After my husband championed his choice of footwear, he also said, “Style doesn’t matter anyway because nobody looks at feet.” I know this to be wrong. EVERYONE looks at feet.

You can tell a lot about someone by the shoes they wear. And just in case you are tempted to side with my husband, you don’t have to take my word for it … there are university studies about this. Why a university would conduct a study on shoe styles is puzzling, but the University of Kansas did that very thing.

Not surprisingly, an extrovert wears flashy shoes, and designer shoes suggest a high income. This second category doesn’t really count if you, like me, can’t tell by looking if a shoe is a Jimmy Choo or a Christian Louboutin. If it weren’t for Sex in the City, I wouldn’t even know those names. I particularly like the study’s next two categories: practical shoes mean that the person is agreeable; and old but well-kept shoes belong to a conscientious person. The meticulous dedication to footwear upkeep likely translates to other aspects of the wearer’s life, right? I often wear practical shoes, and I’d like to think that I’m agreeable. Whenever I’m tempted to wear scuffed or dirty shoes, my Grandma’s voice stops me at the threshold. There are several other categories: ankle boots are worn by aggressive personalities; shabby shoes are worn by liberal thinkers. A person who is aloof and repressive is likely to wear boring shoes.

So, I’m offering this proof that shoes reveal a lot about a person … and everyone is looking at your feet! The study may have that insight, but I’m still stuck with ugly toenails and no desire to risk un-consciousness.

Could it really be as simple as asking … What would Jesus do?