In the Beginning, God made the idea of Stuff, and then a bunch of real, live, actual stuff (along with the ideas “real”, “live”, and “actual"). Then, S/He toyed around with various iterations of “real, live, actual” and made a bunch of water-dwelling things, and then a bunch of land-dwelling things, and then a bunch of giant, terrifying, feather-covered, land-dwelling things, and then, to balance those out, some slightly-less-terrifying, toothy, fur-covered, land-dwelling things. And then, after a few days or many millennia, depending on your concept of time, God made a man and named him Adam.
Adam was lovely. He was warm, fuzzy, entertaining, relatively easy to housebreak, good at chasing moving things and bringing them back after he caught them, happy with whatever one fed him, did just about whatever he was told..he was almost perfect. But ... he was ever-so-slightly dopey.
God started missing interesting conversation (having created the idea) and started worrying (ditto on creation) about Adam, all alone, out there in the “real, live, actual” with all the Toothy Fur-Covereds, and the Terrifying Feather-Covereds, and the primordial mud, and the organic, pesticide-free fruits and veg. So, S/He thought about it for a bit, and created a woman named Eve.
Eve was, as the kids would say in later years, a trip. She, like Adam, was warm, fuzzy, entertaining, easy to housebreak, good at chasing moving things, happy with most foodstuffs; she just had her own, extreme, clearly stated views about doing what she was told. Sometimes, in some situations, she liked it very very much. Most of the time, however, she had no interest in it. She giggled when God told her to do things and suggested other things instead.
“Spend more time with Adam,” God said. “He needs someone to remind him that he doesn’t feel well when he eats ALL of the ice cream right before he falls asleep. Plus, maybe you can teach him to read or bathe or something. And, not telling, but I think he might Like you.”
“Eh. Tomorrow ok? If he ate all of that ice cream, he is going to snore and make weird noises tonight and not be good for anything fun. And WTF you “think” he Likes me. You’re the Omniscient, Omnipotent , Omnipresent One, right? Either you know this shit for sure or you’re faking it.” Eve knew God was bored and looking for gossip and God knew Eve knew and Eve knew God knew Eve knew... omnipowers make for confusing conversations.
But God looked at Adam, alone in his bed, sadly trying to read a book he was holding upside-down, and felt sorry for him. “Dammit, Eve,” S/He said, “Go get in bed with Adam, at least until he falls asleep.”
“Funk that. I’m going to have this apple and maybe a glass of wine and invent 20th century wireless networking.”
“Go. To. Your. Room. Do NOT eat that apple.”
“Or what?” Eve took a giant, juicy, satisfying glomp of Original Apple and found herself instantly time/space-traveled into bed with Adam. She was used to sudden changes. Hanging out with God does that to a being. “Oh here, Adam baby. Do you want some of this apple? It is to-die-for, or will be once death is created, and might help settle your stomach some. I’m just going to run and get my book...”
“That’s it,” said God, who understood “bed” and “room”, having created both, but didn’t really get boundaries since S/He was everywhere and in all times. “I’m over it. Eve, I told you to spend more time with Adam. Look at him. He needs you. (Adam was busily trying to eat the apple core by this point.) Since you won’t do it for yourself, I’ll tie you to him. From this point forward, as far as I am able to pick a single point in time and arrange chronology to flow from it, your feet and fingers will be cold. You will need to stay close to Adam so that his body heat can warm your extremities up.”
And ever after, Eve’s fingers and feet were cold, and she relied on touching Adam to warm them.
And that is why my feet are so goddamn cold and why I must foot you each time I get back in bed.
And that is my story. The end. By Beatrice.
 Footing; sometimes “Feeting”, translators disagree over likely vowel pronunciation. See Joy Robbins, Feeting My Mate (Leeds: Cold Hearted Press, 2012), 28-33
 Chickens are terrifying dinosaurs. No citation needed.
 In retrospect, isn’t it telling that the first thought of Eve usually begins with “butt”. Hmm? Isn’t it, Adam? Hands off. Ass is plenty warm, thank you very much.
 A bit: technical term for a few days or many millennia
 Again, depending on your understanding of time
 Eve wanted to be Hedy Lamarr when she grew up. Who can blame her?