Gross Pedicure.

So I went to get a pre-preGen’s wedding pedicure, because my feet were pretty gross, and I didn’t know if the day-before-the-wedding pedicure would de-callus me enough. Also, I was concerned that the DBTW pedicure would be too de-callusing and I’d bleed all over the damned place. Paranoid? Ok. Yes. So? Jenny had told me about an esthetician up on Broadway who excelled at the de-callusing of feet, so I called and made the appointment. I trust Jenny. I’ve seen the woman before for waxing and such. I trusted her. So I went.
Holy Disgusting, Batman! She spent 45 minutes de-callusing my feet with something that sliced off little curls of skin like a cheese cutter thingie. Forty-Five minutes. At one point, I apologized profusely for giving her these foot-units to work on, but she smiled and said she’d seen worse.
They weren’t even that bad, I thought. I mean, I’d had them pedi-ed, what, two months ago? What was that woman doing? Nothing with the cheese slicer thingy. So how am I making these tremendous calluses? My shoes are comfortable. My socks do not chafe. Is this simply a design flaw on the human animal?

Or, perhaps not a design flaw. More like civilization has taken over and is actively fighting an evolutionary strength.

I remember when I was a little kid and couldn’t wait for late spring. Then I’d take off my shoes and socks and practice, first on rough pavement, then in the alley behind our house. I was toughening up for summertime, for rocky beaches and pine-needle-covered trails. I was enthralled by a fact I found in a book about different cultures around the world. Apparently, there are some people in the nomadic desert tribes of North Africa who can hold their feet in a three-inch flame and not feel a thing! I aspired to the toughness of their feet.

Now, me, I have just paid money for someone to cheese-grate the calluses away. I couldn’t run down our old alley without drawing blood. All in the name of fashion. The upshot of my foot-shaving is that I couldn’t run away from danger. Especially in the high heels I am currently learning to walk in.
Don’t get me wrong. I am delighted with the results. My feet are pink and cute and I can trip gaily into students’ homes, take off my shoes, and be blithe in the knowledge that my feet will represent me well.

Just keep my feet away from open flame.

2 Comments to “Gross Pedicure.”

  1. By Deb, July 15, 2006 @ 1:20 am

    My Dad calls those “potato-picker feet”.(Of course, he married an Irishwoman).
    I also share this genetic gift. I call it a gift because when the Shoe-less Revolution comes, you and I shall rule, while sad people with baby-soft feet shall…...walk really slow.

  2. By Liz, July 16, 2006 @ 6:42 pm

    Excellent! We shall be fleet of foot and hardy of sole.

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