I can't reach my toes. Heck, I can barely get my pants on in the morning at this point.
For Mother's Day my husband treated me to a pedicure. I had been complaining about how awful my feet looked and how I could only wear flip flops on my swollen sausages, er feet.
I had never had a pedicure before and I wasn't sure how I would feel getting one. There is something unnerving about having a complete stranger touching my feet, an awkwardness that I wasn't sure I could overcome. I'll admit feet kind of gross me out. I even have a hard time cutting my children's toe nails.
When the woman who was recommended to me from a friend who frequents the same salon came out with her little cart of implements (some looking like medieval torture devices), I started to wonder if I would really enjoy this. I never knew how much would go into getting a pedicure. When she asked if I wanted her to use the razor or the pumice stone, I'll admit I had a hard time not showing my desire to bolt as I shrugged and said it didn't matter. I thought I had misunderstood her when she asked. I hadn't.
The fact was I did enjoy it. Immensely. Having someone massaging my feet and rubbing lotion into them and painting them lifted my mood. Not to mention they were no longer rough and calloused but smooth to the touch. My feet have never looked so pretty with their bright pink colored nails-nails with no smudges on the sides or bumps from me putting to much nail polish on or fingerprints from me touching them in my clumsiness.
I left the salon in the middle of a rain storm and had to jump puddles in my flip flops along the way. That still didn't put a damper on my good mood. I felt pampered and I had enjoyed chatting with the woman who did my pedicure.
It is amazing how much you can learn about someone in so short a time. She was originally from New Orleans and had relocated locally after Hurricane Katrina. She was looking forward to returning home for a visit over the summer. We also chatted about our children (the universal topic of bonding between all mothers) and our addiction to the Real Housewives series. It was nice to have some adult conversation while my husband took over the bedtime routine with the girls at home. I returned home to a quiet house which was nice for a change.
What do you do when you need to be pampered?
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