The Toes of a King

Posted by Danny

I am in love, truly in love.

It started with a gift certificate from my mother-in-law for a pedicure.  I’d never had one before, and I was scared to death.  I’ve had a massage and enjoyed it, but the nail salon seemed so…so…female. 

I prepped my feet before the girls and I headed over, trying to disguise the stench.  I was sort of feeling sorry for the employee who got stuck with my puppies.  The toe jam was difficult to clean out, but I did my best.

The first thing I saw when I walked in the salon was an elderly woman at the manicure table, the tips of each of her fingers were wrapped in tin foil.  Yes, tin foil – like baked potatoes.  I don’t know if she came in that way or if the manicurist intentionally did that to her.  Were they going to cook her?  

I wondered if my toes would see the same fate.  What if one of my buddy’s wives walked in and found me with a baking bag tied around my feet?  I’d never hear the end of it.  This was a mistake, I thought to myself.

The owner escorted me to a large chair with a miniature bathtub at the bottom.  She pointed to the least senior staffer she could find – I’m not sure exactly what she said, but I think it was:  “You, new girl, Nasty Feet is yours.”

My savior looked up and gave me the once over.  To my surprise, she did not flinch – perhaps she’d seen worse.  As the warm water started pouring over my feet, she gloved her hands, a very wise move.

I was watching her closely when she handed me the remote control to my massaging chair.  Vibration – MAXIMUM; Massage – MAXIMUM.  At least my back would be happy.

She gently lifted my right foot; she used no words.  She squirted blue Dawn dishwashing detergent on my toenails and with finesse rubbed each toe.  My breathing slowed; my heart palpitated – I was beginning to fall.

After a good clipping and the chiseling of dirt from beneath my nails , she pulled out a small pair of pliers.  My cuticles had no idea how to react.  I thought it might hurt, but she was so tender and loving that my toes felt nothing.  It was as if hummingbirds were dancing across my feet.

Her next move surprised me.  She took out a cheese grater and began scrapping the tough spots on the balls of my feet.  As the white skin droppings fell, I couldn’t escape the thought of parmesan.  I wondered if they had a deal with the Whole Foods next door – that place is all about recycling.

It was not long after that I could tell she was falling for me too.  I closed my eyes, and at one point, I’m fairly certain she briefly rested my foot on her breast.  I can’t be sure, but I think she was sending me a signal. 

We didn’t speak the same language – or did we?  Was it the language of love?

Finally, she pulled out toe Amorall and buffed until my nails glistened. 

As she drained the water, panic ensued.  Should I ask her to marry me?  I don’t want this to end.

And then she vanished – out the back – no doubt to deliver my shavings next door.

That’s OK, I’ll be back.  And I’ll request tin foil to extend my stay.



Pedicure 101

Posted by Danny

My mother-in-law gave me a gift certificate for a pedicure for my birthday.  Eee.  I’m just not so sure about that.

I’ve been to the salon on several occasions – primarily to drop a kid off or pick one up.  Did you know they have this blow dryer for your fingers?  You stick your newly painted digits under these tiny Barbie fans and BOOM – you’re set to go!

Last year we had a birthday party there, not mine but one of the girls.  I really wanted to put my tongue under the fan, but I couldn’t find a time that someone wasn’t looking.  And the fans are in the front of the store, right beside the shopping center sidewalk.  I was afraid my mom might walk by.  She told me never to put my tongue near a moving blade.

I asked my mother-in-law if you could get a pedicure if you had planter’s warts.  She asked and they said yes. 

The salon near our house has staff who can all speak another language.  I’ll have to admit, it’s a little disconcerting to have all the staff talking when you don’t know what they’re saying.  They all speak English – so why would they use another language?  I’ll tell you why.  They’d speak in another language if they didn’t want you to know what they were saying.

“Oh, look at his nasty feet!”

“Un.  What did you do wrong to get him girl?”

“He’d better leave me a big tip.”

“I can tell from here he’s cheap.  Won’t even pay to get those warts taken care of.”

“Looks like he cuts his toenails in the Walmart parking lot.”

I told DJ I didn’t want to get my nails painted.  She scoffed – “You don’t have to get your nails painted when you get a pedicure.”  But I thought that’s what a pedicure was –

I do know this – after you get your feet worked on, they make you wear these flimsy yellow flip-flops.  But they’re no good at the beach – they’ll tear up in a minute.  I tried Lisa’s one time, barely made it off our pier before they fell apart.

I do think I’m gonna try this – I love to have my feet rubbed.  And  my mother-in-law told me it’s very relaxing.  What can I say?  I trust her – she’s never led me astray before.

I’ll let you know how it turns out. 


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