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It was Thursday night. Yes, night. It was after 8:00, and all the sunlight was gone in this region. After cleaning my house all day, I was ready to relax. I just wanted to take my box of pizza, plop down in the living room, watch TV, and leave it at that. My night would have gone smoothly if I had only followed that plan, if I had ignored that knock at the door. But like a fool, I went and answered it.

Important rule for life: if someone knocks on your door when you have a doorbell, don’t open it. Doubly so if it’s raining outside.

“Can I help you?” I didn’t recognise this person. At first I thought she was some lost housewife in her late 20s. But those red glasses made her look older than she really was. The moment she opened her mouth, I knew she was my age.

“Thanks a bunch!” She waltzed in and shut the door. “Ooh. It’s freezing in here.”

“I beg your damn pardon?”

First of all, she just walked in like this was her house. Second, it was cold? It had it set at 70°F, AKA 21°C for the non-Unovans. That might have been chilly for a woman, but for a man, that was the standard. Plus, she had on a big orange sweater. And a hat. And two layers of tops. She was bundled up for autumn even though we were in spring.

She waved to me. “Do you have anything to eat?”

“Do I know you?”

“Now you do. Name’s Bianca, Professor Juniper’s best assistant.”

“Great, you’re researching Pokémon when these Pokédex devices had all the info filled in years ago. We appreciate your hard work. Now kindly fuck off.”

“First thing in the morning, for sure.” She walked into my kitchen, prompting me to grab her by the shoulder. “Hey, it’s thundering out there. I gotta, like, bunk somewhere for the night, you know?”

“And you pick my house? All these houses out here, and you just had to come to mine.”

“Every house on this block had the same chance of me getting in, yep.”

If I didn’t have any decent morals, I would’ve left her to the Liepard and Galvantula out there. This was a sucky situation, but as long as she acted like she had common sense, one night with her could be bearable. For example, you don’t touch other people’s food when you’re the uninvited guest in their home. I squeezed her pale hand the moment she reached for a slice of pizza.

“My house, my rules. Sit in that living room, shut up and wait.” I looked down. “And take your shoes off inside.”

She gave a thumbs up and skipped out the kitchen. I cursed behind her, noticing the trail of mud her shoes had left on my tile floor. Well, that took five minutes out of my night to mop the kitchen. Again. Once that was done and over with, I grabbed the pizza and went to…

Her feet. Why were they on my coffee table? More importantly, where were her socks?

“Do you mind?” I pointed at her disgusting things.

“Just a minute, sorry. Gotta give my feet a bit of flexing time, you know?”

Nope, we weren’t doing this. It took me less than a second to swat her feet off my clean table and put the pizza down. And just as I was about to sit, I realised I didn’t even have a drink. And considering that Miss Moron here didn’t have any brains, I might as well have grabbed her something, too.

“Do you want orange soda?”

“Actually—”

“You’re getting orange soda.” I poured two cups of it, then returned to the living room.

My drink almost spilt on the floor. I hadn’t left her alone for minute, and somehow she had already ruined the rest of the night. Why was the pizza box open? Why were her feet all over the eight slices? I gulped. I stepped right in front of her to see just how nasty the bottoms of her feet were. It didn’t take an expert to deduce that they were sweaty, as the way the light reflected off them made it obvious. And with sweatiness came stickiness. Suddenly I was no longer in the mood to eat my ordered food knowing that some shoe grit and foot juice was getting mixed in it.

This girl, Bianca, had managed to completely piss me off. Her obnoxiously loud lip smacking made me fume, along with her greasy fingers staining my couch.

And yet I couldn’t rip this girl a new one because I was too petrified.

“Why am I not surprised?” I covered my nose. “Only natural for a ditz to wear boots without any protection. No wonder your feet smell like that.”

“They smell fine to me. But Professor Juniper says the same thing about them being a bit too ripe.”

“And even knowing that, you’ve decided to ruin my dinner that I paid for with my money.”

“You asked me to take my shoes off.” She pressed the balls of her feet into the pizza. “I had to keep my dogs toasty somehow.”

Idiot logic at its finest. Believe it or not, the smell seemed to increase the longer she kept her shoes off. I hadn’t changed position, and my lungs got heavier. The whole atmosphere of the living room became heavier. Imagine sniffing someone’s crusty, wet socks after they’ve been left in a garbage can for days. It was absurd how bad Bianca’s feet reeked, and I was a decent distance away from them.

As much as it hurt to have my living space defiled, I tried to maintain what little control I had over my anger.

“Please take a shower.”

“Won’t do any good, sorry to say.” Using her toes, she grabbed a piece of pepperoni, then stuck it in her mouth. “The professor told me the only way to make my feet smell super good is with some spitrus.”

“Excuse me? Wanna repeat that?”

“Spitrus. I dunno, I think it’s a chemical found in human spit. She just told me like I’d know what I was out the blue. She would’ve probably lectured me on it if I didn’t clock out early.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So what exactly are you trying to imply?”

“Well… If you can’t handle the scent of my feet, you’ll just have to lick them ‘til the stink is gone.”

Unbelievable. In my own home, I was expected to lick a girl’s feet like some kind of slave? All because her feet had some strange condition that she brought to me? There was no hell cruel enough for this Bianca character. I would’ve called the police to toss her out, but when did the police ever do their job in Unova? With her milky and frail body, they’d twist the story to make me look guilty for not letting the stink-foot bitch in during a storm.

Tonight I’d have to use the entire bottle of mouthwash. Maybe with a shot of antifreeze for good measure.

I’d take this one foot at a time. The left foot came first, and boy, did my stomach turn when I picked it up. Bianca’s feet were greasier than her hands, and now that I held one of them, the sweat felt sickening. This salty perspiration rained from her foot when I squeezed it, like water from a wrung-out rag.

“Mmm… Wish you added a few mushrooms, but I haven’t eaten pizza in a long while.”

I glared at her. “One lick on each foot should be enough, right?”

“No idea. If you wanna be sure, best to lick them until they’re soaked from heel to toe. At least that’s what I’d do.”

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