Dancing barefoot

Dear Mother and Father,

I should be continuing to report on what happens to me while I am away from you, but I do not know what to report. I went to Mama Valdy's again last night--twice, in fact. At the party, there were a few less-than-familiar people, one of whom I learned was somewhat familiar all: She was the genie I met at Mr. Baron's birthday party, but this time she had a body and a lover. (It was fascinating and kind of sad to watch them interact. They clearly have no idea how fickle and fleeting the in-love state is. They'll both be so devastated when they find out.) Mama Miss Dreamscape wasn't there, although I saw her relative Miss Requiem earlier on. (I had wandered over to see the ponies and sweep off the doorstep if necessary. I don't know why I felt like doing that.) She had business to attend to, so we didn't speak long. But I did glean one thing: When I mentioned that nothing had tried to eat me lately (in response to that ubiquitous "How have you been" question that I still haven't figured out the answer to), she said that sometimes she narrowly escapes being eaten. She probably isn't from around here, so that may not refer to anywhere I might get to, but I should start preparing myself just in case. I will need a good weapon, at the very least. I can't believe I didn't make some when the head-eating alien was about. I cannot live forever on the assumption that the next threat I encounter will be secretly vulnerable to cheese.
Although I did find a beautiful dress my size in a charity place this morning, I was unable to find new boots, and my soiled ones are still wet from a renewed effort at washing them. (If I didn't send you the letter about that, there was an incident in which I stepped on a mimmoth until it died (on purpose) and then had to clean the mess off my boots, which didn't work.) So, I had to go around the city barefoot, ducking inside of buildings whenever possible to keep my toes warm. No one noticed because my new dress is long enough to cover my feet. But when I got to the tavern itself and started dancing as is the proper thing to do when Miss Blackheart plays her songs, I'm sure I made a fool of myself twirling around barefoot. Yet nobody said anything. I shudder to think what sorts of things must be said behind my back, but these people let so many things slide. They act as if they honestly don't care about things like bare feet, and I suspect that may in some cases really be true. In any case, please don't fret about this. It will not destroy me, I swear by The Grid.

Shaqad