If Achilles had a boot, the world would all be different.

What would have Homer written if the Greeks had not needed a reason to invade Troy and appease the gods?

How would great stories about star-crossed lovers ever emerge if Paris had shot his arrow and it bounced off the hard plastic form on Achilles’ ankle

rather than strike that one vulnerable spot?

Ah, the gods did not want perfection, they wanted one little place that could hobble their playthings, set us limping and stumbling in and out of love as a reminder that life is about wanting and forgiving at the same time.

What fun would it be if everything was one from column A, and one from column B?

They wanted us to open the Trojan horse and be surprised.

They wanted me to gaze into your eyes and ponder how their softness could be both the pleasure of discovery and the pain of uncertainty.