So today, I went in for a pedi. (That's the stupid term for pedicure.) Some of you may know about my feet, but for those of you ignorant and full of bliss, I'll paint a beautiful picture. Cracked. Bleeding. Wrinkled. Troll-like. Same as my hands, but my feet tip the scale of gross-out. In fact, I did not even let my husband see my feet before we were married~not until it was too late for him to back out. Not even kidding.
Anyway, one day a while back, probably high on Dr. Pepper and licorice, I announced loudly to one and all that I would be "HAVING MY FEET DONE, PEOPLE." My family silently crossed themselves. See, all of them had at one point or another received an accidental slice by my reptilian claws, (Accidental, I say.) and I'd shredded my fair share of sheets, and they were just really concerned about possible litigation. It took about three weeks of prep work, but finally, I had scraped enough dead skin off my heels to allow them to be touched by another human, as well as dropped a full shoe size in the process. Bonus!
I went to a little Vietnamese shop where the poor woman looked down at my feet~looked up into my eyes~and glared, staring straight through me and throwing firey darts into the depth of my soul. Then she went to work; scraping, filing, sanding, cutting. (This was the skin, not the toenails.) Think total reconstructive surgery. She was sweating and swearing (in Vietnamese though, so it was fine), angry and hostile by the time she finished. Wiping her brow, she lifted up my freshly polished hoof, shook it and pointed at me. "YOU COME BACK FOE MOE TIME TO FEEX DIS! FOE MOE TIME!" I nodded vehemently, as if I were a child in trouble~which I kind of was~and she threw my foot away in disgust, stood up and just walked away. I tried to speak and she stopped walking, put her hand in the air to silence me, and then continued on.
I was ashamed. For I had neglected a very, very important universal truth. A golden rule, one might say. "Maintain on yourself what you would have others maintain on them." Like skin...or hair, people. Nose hair, specifically. And ear hair. And eyebrow tentacles...I mean hair. All of which continue to grow weekly, dear, therefore need to be trimmed continually! Hells Bells. I won't mention any names. (cough, husband, cough)
So let's give a shout out to maintenance. YAY FOR MAINTENANCE!!! It may make us feel worldly and sinful, decadent and prideful, but it seems to be worth the effort. And who knows, a marriage may be saved in the process.
Acorn vintage show in May
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