So, my feet? They're not that beautiful.
I hate my feet, actually. They're *not* feminine or delicate, they're noticeably different sizes, and my heels especially bear the collected consequences of 37.5 years of running around barefoot or in sandals as often as possible (including outdoors - even growing up on the farm with its gravel driveway and hard-packed-earth barnyards), and my toes? My wonky toes with the cracked toenails, the warped pinkie toes and the committed-to-shaving-for-life-thanks-to-a-foolhardy-spontaneous-act-back-in-the-late-80s big toes? They're just uuuuuugly. Fugly. Gross.
You think I kid? Fine, I'll prove it to you:
Oooh, yeah, I forgot about my "if it's almost summer, Heather's got the Birkenstock tan lines" across-the-top stripes. You should see them by the end of August...
You're sorry you ever doubted me now, aren't you? I may be prone to exaggeration, but not when it comes to my feet. I told you so. Don't worry, I'll spare you a shot of my other heel, not just out of pity, but because I almost fell over and gave myself a concussion attempting to photograph the bottom of this foot.
So, anyhow, I hate my feet. I actually hate all feet, with the exception of teeny-tiny baby feet and "still small enough to be cute" kid feet. Kiddo's feet used to be a thing of beauty. I loved those tiny feet, with their tinier toes. I called them "toe niblets" a la corn niblets and I'd eat them every chance I had. Now, at the age of six, her toe niblets are no longer so cute. They're crossing the border into FEET territory, as in get 'em away from me NOW please!, utilitarian-only feet.
Yeah, I have the opposite of a foot fetish. I have a foot phobia.
This is why I'm fairly certain that I have lost my last remaining shred of sanity. Why so certain, you ask?
Because I'm pondering the possibility of getting a pedicure tomorrow. Me. The one who hates her feet (and as I've demonstrated above, with darn good reason. Nasty, nasty appendages stomping about on tack strips and gravel, carrying me hither and yon...). The one who never lets ANYONE touch her feet, with the exception of my favorite massage therapist (who also happens to be a good friend) and even then, I don't let her touch my feet much or every time I go for a massage. Hubby doesn't touch my feet (nor does he want to - he's not exactly running after me, begging to rub my misshapen, gnarly, hirsute ham hocks) and Kiddo only does when she is feeling particularly death-wishy.
Why then would I even think of a pedicure?
I don't rightly know, except.... Hubby had a golf tournament today. (Wait, I know, that didn't make a lick of sense. Also, why is that even a phrase - a lick? Is sense a lollipop? I mean, I don't have much of it, so I guess that's why I don't know this...)
See, Hubby had a golf tournament today, and after that tournament was over, there was a dinner. A dinner with a raffle, for which Hubby bought 6 tickets. The raffle prizes, to hear Hubby tell it, were awwwwwwesome. Flat screen TVs. Wiis. Blueray players. 8 gig iPod Touches. Super-fancy golf clubs. Last year, Hubby played in the same tournament and entered the raffle and didn't win ANYTHING. Hubby really, really, reaaaaaally wanted to win a flat screen TV this year. He was extra-hopeful because he didn't win anything last year, as though Lady Luck would be extra kind to him with that whole "random drawing winners out of a hat" thing this year.
Hubby didn't win the TV. Or the golf clubs. Or anything else remotely cool-n-manly.
Hubby won a $100 spa gift card.
To a fancy-shmancy, ritzy, frou-frou spa.
Lady Luck must like girls. Girls with super-short Mom hairdos and rhinocerousean feet.
The gift card came with a list of services and their prices. Let me tell you, $100 doesn't go too far at this spa. I could get a "partial highlight" but not with a cut, wash or blow dry. Heck, they charge an "additional $15" to spritz some leave-in conditioner into your hair before you leave. A wash and blow dry with no cutting or anything else is $30. So, forget the hair salon - and besides, I just got the bird's nest tamed, so it's barely long enough to do now anyhow.
Facials were the next thing on the list for me to consider. Hmmmm, there are a couple that are under $100 (and many more that are well over $100, by the by) but I don't know whether I want someone looking at in depth and then touching my Acne-Like-I'm-a-Teenager/Wrinkles-and-Age-Spots-Like-I'm-a-Crone combination skin for any length of time. (Guess I have a thing about my face just like I do about feet...)
Then I considered the massages. There are a couple that are less than $100, but I don't know that I'd want to go all Full Monty at Le Chic-n-Ritzy Spa in front of strangers. (I did go Full Monty at the hotel spa in Vegas one time, but that was a sort of "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" thing, whereas this spa is less than 5 miles from my house and I might see these people again and that would freak me out.) Besides, I have a massage therapist that I adore (and if you're local, you should go check her out - Joan at A Healing Sanctuary and tell her Heather sent you!) and I have a gift certificate Hubby gave me for Christmas that I still haven't used there yet.
I thought about the Seaweed Wrap, the Mud Wrap and the Salt or Sugar Scrubs (with Vichy - what the hey is that anyhow??) for about half a second combined. I know from watching TV and movies that those sorts of Wraps aren't delicious things to eat, but rather things that involve getting naked and then being scrubbed and swaddled in various substances for apparently 50 minutes. Again, can you imagine running into the Wrap Technician the following week at the grocery store? No thank you!
So, where does that leave me on this spa list?
Manicures and pedicures.
Now, manicures are decidedly out. I've had two manicures in my life: the first for my wedding and the second for my big appearance on Jeopardy. For both those occasions (and for the junior and senior proms), I grew my nails out and they looked all nice and pretty - for about 48 hours after the event in question. Yes, I am a lifelong, chronic nail biter. It's less likely to kill me than smoking cigarettes, so please don't chastise. I know it is a terrible habit. I know I need to stop - and I have, many, many times before. Sometimes for whole weeks. But that is neither here nor there.
What's left if the manis are out? Pedicures.................... The "Signature Spa Pedicure" is 80 minutes long. It would probably take them 80 minutes to recover from their initial shock upon viewing my 37.5 year old, decrepit hooves and gown up accordingly for the necessary HazMat levels. While I do hate my feet and only give them the most perfunctory of sporadic attention (beautification-wise, I typically paint my toenails a few times over the course of the summer, never removing the polish at summer's end, either. I use the gradual chipping/growing out of the nails under the polish as a timekeeper to know how long it has been since summer ended...), I wouldn't mind having nicer looking feet. Almost pretty feet, even. At least, feet that looked human instead of rhinocerousean.
So, there you have it. Way more info than you ever, ever wanted about Heather's Hooves. I know that there are those of you out there who love pedicures. Should I be considering this, boldly going where no Heather's Foot has ever gone before? Will they be utterly grossed out at the sight of my ham hocks clomping in through the spa doors, all gnarly in my Birks? Will the sight of my heels make them cry and/or recoil in horror? Will they snicker aloud at my big toes' 5 o'clock shadow?
So I wonder, do I dare and, do I dare?
And if I do dare, what is standard pedi-etiquette? Do I make small talk with the pedicurist? Do I bring a book? How does it all work, exactly?
If I do go and have a pedicure (and weirdly enough, the more I write about how much I hate my feet, the less this seems like an obviously lousy idea and the more I think I might just want to do it! See, told ya my marbles and sanity are gone!), I will post "after" pictures for you to see. If I don't go, though, you can rest assured that barring a George Clooney or Hugh Jackman autograph adorning one of my feet, you will never, ever see a photograph of them like the ones above ever again. Promise.
(PS - Please don't think I'm not super-excited about and grateful for this spa gift card. I totally, totally am. I'm beyond thrilled. It's just so unexpected and not my typical thing that I'm a bit overwhelmed by all the fanciness of the spa services menu. I swear to you I love this gift card, am thrilled that Hubby won it - not that I would've been sad had he won a WiiFit or flat screen TV - and touched and appreciative that he gave it to me. I mean, they *do* have "Gentlemen's Manicure" and "Gentlemen's Pedicure" and "Gentlemen's Cut" and "Gentlemen's Facial" options there, as well...)