We were relaxing at a BBQ after a long hot day in the sun. Our neighbor's little girl was trying hard not to stare at my bare feet and green toes, but not succeeding very well.
I smiled and said, "They're Hobbit feet. You know Hobbits? Like in 'The Lord of the Rings', Hobbit feet, short, square, green."
"Naa," her Dad said, "they're not Hobbit feet. Hobbits have longer toes, and their feet are hairy and really big compared to the size of their body. You definitely don't have Hobbit feet. But they are pretty weird ones."
"Girl Hobbits are different," I said, "no hair, green, smaller."
"Ahh, come on, you're not a Hobbit!".
"No, you're right, I'm not, but my great grandmother was," I said, "so I'm part. I got the feet from her I guess."
The little girl listened to all this, eyes wide, taking it all in. It's not everyone who gets to meet someone who's part Hobbit. In the end I did own up to the truth. I admitted my toes were grass stained from walking behind the mower. Nevertheless I wouldn't be surprised if she still thinks my great grandma was a Hobbit.
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