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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.


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

  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!

  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?

  4. Margie1:46 PM

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

  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.

  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!

  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??

  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!

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

  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.

  11. you didn't offend, pam.

  12. Thanks for saying that Anna.

  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.


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