A few weeks back I showed photos of my shameful feet. My toes, specifically. Actually one toe.
The big monster spear toe. The second one from the inside.
If you didn’t read that post – click here and prepare to get fouled out.
While Jessica The Reader (aka Jessica) was in town this weekend, she forced me to get a pedicure.
Quite frankly, I don’t really understand the attraction. I mean, obviously I don’t paint my nails or long to get my cuticles pushed, but the whole thing seems way unnecessary. The foot massage is lame, the whirlpool effect I can get by passing wind in the bath, and I don’t read Redbook.
However, I will say that those back massage chairs are pretty fantastic. I was moaning like a preacher’s daughter the whole time.
My girlfriend apparently has insanely ticklish feet. She burst out in uncontrollable laughter during the pumice stone. It was pretty embarrassing.
Fast forward to the end. My feet are cleaned, trimmed, and less nasty. I guess that’s good?
