Skip to main content

Death Valley Doesn't Have Anything On Me

I have something to confess, and it doesn’t involve illicit relations with Cheetos, over-consumption of chocolate (I’m saving that one for later), or my days as a mole in the CIA. No, this unburdening of my soul regards feet.

I can’t stand them. I dislike them so much that I can hardly bear to touch my very own feet, let alone the feet of any other human being. I like putting the tops of my feet on my husbands feet, but other than that, don’t ask me to touch anyone’s feet. Baby feet aren’t considered ‘feet’, for purposes of this column. They’re brand spanking new, corn-free and uber soft. I love those. It’s the larger, older feet that I have trouble dealing with.

This brings me to today. I did something today that I’ve never, ever, in all my many years walking upon this earth, done.

I got a pedicure.

Everyone has told me how relaxing a pedicure is and how much they love getting one and how much they thought I should do it. I love it when my wonderful husband, lotion in hand, rubs my feet at the end of a particularly brutal day in the Parenting Trenches. Nothing is more soothing.

As I was walking the mall I noticed a place that advertised pedicures for twenty dollars. It didn’t seem to be that much and my feet were in very bad shape, so in I went. The shop was teeming with pretty Vietnamese girls wearing white smocks and chattering away in their native tongue. I know this only because I’ve had a Vietnamese stalker since I was fourteen and I recognize the language.

I was directed, mostly by hand gestures, to sit in a chair with a foot bath attached. Hot water (and I do mean HOT water) was piped into the foot bath where my tender tootsies were placed. I winced and said the water was too hot.

“Ye, berry hoh”

I should have known right then that I was in trouble. I spent the next half an hour having nails clipped, and what appeared to be industrial strength sandpaper slid across the tender and not so tender areas of my feet.

“Berry much dry kin”

I nodded. Yes, my feet were very dry. The skin was dry and horrible. I knew that. It was one of the reasons I came in to have a pedicure. I apologized for the state of my feet.

“Berry much dry kin”

This phrase was repeated many times, accompanied by pointing at the objects of her displeasure. Apparently the industrial sandpaper wasn’t’ strong enough, so she left and went into the back room for a rather large block of something that looked like it’s primary purpose might be to remove spines from porcupines. I then received the scouring of my life.

“Much dry kin”

Rub, frown, repeat.

“Berry dry”

Yes, they are the Sahara of feet. I should be too ashamed to walk on them. Cactus are velvet compared to my feet. Every time she told me how bad my feet were, I apologized. Yes, yes. I’m sorry for bringing these disgusting feet into your shop. I’m ashamed. Forgive me. What was I thinking, asking for a pedicure? I should have known better.

Tsk tsk. “Rots of dry kin”

When she was done lamenting the state of my arches and heels, she poured oily substances over my toes and worked it in up to my shins. Ah, that was better. No more sandpaper, just a massage with oil. This was more like it!

Then she pushed one foot back into the hot water and peered closely at the other one as if searching for an oasis in a vast drought-plagued land. She looked up at me for an apology.

“You know berry dry?”

Why no, that hadn’t been pointed out to me before. Dry? Goodness, how did that happen?

She held out the bottle of oil that she’d poured over my very objectionable feet and I think she said I should use it on my feet.

I forgot to ask if it was 30 or 40 wt.

Comments

  1. now you know what it is like to have a vietnamese mother

    ReplyDelete
  2. Bwahahahahahahah!

    Sorry. I'm a git.

    The possums are coming, hurrah, hurrah
    The possums are coming, hurrah, hurrah
    The possums are coming hurrah, hurrah
    The possums are coming, hurrah, HURRAH!

    ReplyDelete
  3. If my stalker had had his way, I'd have had a Vietnamese mother in law. They're very forthright people, aren't they? I know a few words of Vietnamese, but not enough to hold a conversation.

    I woke up this morning hoping that my post hadn't offended you Anna.

    Fronty, I think you're delirious. No possums yet?

    ReplyDelete
  4. Margie1:46 PM

    LOL Pam. I've never had a pedicure either. I don't think I ever will.

    ReplyDelete
  5. No, no, no, no! Don't let me put you off having someone taking sand paper and rubbing your feet raw!

    I think my problem was not going to a place with high prices. I'm fairly certain this was a discount shop. I'd have received higher class sneering at a better shop.

    Or not. I really have heard that a pedicure is a wonderful experience. I hope to have one some day.

    ReplyDelete
  6. cynic9:05 PM

    I'm with you, Pamela. I'm not big on feet. We should have cartoon feet. They look so easy to maintain. And they're great for stopping your car!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Now, now. I've had some very professionally-done pedicures and I think you should give them another try. You won't be sorry. And you won't have to say you're sorry for having dry scratchy feet. Obviously - that's why you're HAVING A PEDICURE. It's like the doctor telling you what an idiot you are for getting sick. DUHHH??

    ReplyDelete
  8. That's sort of what I was thinking as I kept apologizing over and over.

    If my fee were perfect, I'd not have needed a pedicure.

    I will give it another try at another place sometime. When I've recovered.

    Cynic! Nice to see you here. I agree with you. Cartoon feet would be MUCH easier to are for!

    ReplyDelete
  9. HAHAHAHA!!!! I love your blogs Pam. I need a pedicure. Maybe you should come up here and we'll get one together!

    ReplyDelete
  10. You're ON! Besides, I have to see my cute little kitten again. I miss the little ones, even though we still have Twitchy. Tomorrow I'll have an update on how his first vet visit went.
    There was blood involved. Not from the cat, but from my husband.

    ReplyDelete
  11. you didn't offend, pam.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Thanks for saying that Anna.

    ReplyDelete
  13. Rina, the Tall Hobbit2:12 PM

    See, that's why I don't go into those places. I just know they'd talk about my feet to each other in their language, note how the Yeti's footprints are said to be smaller than what I must leave behind, etc., and then smile at me and nod until I nod back. Spend a little more next time and get your pups pampered by another American big-foot! It's on my to-do list, but far enough down that it never gets done.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Go ahead....tell me the truth :)

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin th…

I'm Sick. And the election isn't helping.

I spoke too soon about feeling better. My grandson was delightful enough to share his virus with me, so I've spent the past five days losing everything from both ends. It hasn't been pretty.

As a weight loss program though...

At least one end of me has stopped spewing. Now I wait for the other end to stop pretending to be filled with hot lava and erupting without much notice. Sorry, this is what is called over-sharing. Apparently I'm very good at it. You're welcome.

Last night I walked around the block with hubby and our adorable puppy. It was the first time I've been out of the house in five days. It was lovely, even though I was very shaky. Today I actually tried to accomplish something. I sat at my jewelry table, moved my seaglass around. Picked up pieces and played them through my hands. Such beautfy that came from something considered useless garbage and tossed away. I love my sea glass. It gives me the happies.

I also had a severe case of J…