June 13, 2002 | 11:06 AM

I love my feet.

They are boxy and tiny and cute and my pinky toe is so petite that the nail is just an itty bitty sliver.

Ok�that sounded kind of gross somehow. But trust me (or ask someone who knows) I really do have lovely feet.

This morning I was sitting at my desk, listening to The Violent Femmes with my legs stretched out straight in front of me, maroon painted toes poking out of my sandals. I was staring at my feet�just admiring them�flexing them, twirling them around and around�also my lower legs, which happen to be quite nice as well (my thighs, tummy, and ass could use a massive amount of work, but we won�t talk about that now because it�s counterproductive).

Suddenly I was aware that a very well renowned and tightassed professor was standing just outside my office door staring at me with a peculiar look on his face, and I realized how absurd I must look with my legs pointed up in the air dancing around. I probably didn�t resemble the lovely romantic gorgeous legged princess of my fantasy but instead a severely dysfunctional and mentally retarded ballet student.

Needless to say, I was a tad embarrassed.

I do feel like dancing right now though. I want to put on Tschaikovsky and just swirl and twirl around the halls and do little leaps and plies and all that shit.

And maybe later some pogoing and the twist and slamdancing and jitterbugging.

People don�t dance enough. They�re worried they�ll look stupid.

I say, who cares? That�s the point, isn�t it?