Okay, so it’s not really that bad. I mean, I have a sweet husband who gives me foot massages and rubs lotion on them for moisturizing purposes. Personally, I think it’s self preservation that motivates him – he doesn’t want any dragon feet accidentally scraping against his shins in the middle of the night and jolting him awake.
I sometimes only reluctantly hand my feet over to Vince because he thinks that “massage” should be therapeutic, which basically means that one’s body is pummeled into submission. I frequently find myself yanking my feet out of his ministrations and yelping in pain. Sometimes I even yank my feet away and yelp in pain in anticipation, which makes him laugh evilly.
Why do I allow him to keep giving me massages? Because, interestingly, I feel better when he’s done. He usually jokes that it feels good only because he’s not digging into the knots anymore. But after that, I find that I feel better.
The first time he offered to give me a foot massage, I told him that I had really ticklish feet and I didn’t do well with foot massages and I’d never even had a pedicure because of it. His friend – who’d been on the receiving end of one of his foot massages – laughed uproariously as if I’d said the funniest thing in the world. I was a little annoyed – mostly because I don’t like inside jokes when I’m not one of the insiders. But then I quickly learned what the laughter was all about. Ow…ow…OW!
After that experience, I figured that my feet were forever desensitized and so I made my first ever pedicure appointment. And I’m happy to report that there were no yelps in pain, nor did I have to yank my feet out of the soothing foot bath because they were tickling my toes while they loofahed and scrubbed and buffed.
And then I had the prettiest shade of pink polished on my toes – without streaks and blobs and polish that dripped beyond the perimeter of the actual toenail. It was amazing!
So I’m treating myself tonight and I’m looking forward to it. I just hope that what happened after my last pedicure doesn’t happen this time.
My last pedicure occurred the day before our wedding last September, and I had this awesome red nail polish painted on my toes. I figured “Chick Flick Cherry” red on my fingernails might not be appropriately bride-y, but I wanted to let my inner wild child have her way. I thought it was a good compromise. The colors of the wedding, by the way, were apple red and purple.
Anyway, I arrived home all pleased with the results and started packing my bags so we could head over to the hotel for the pre-wedding festivities.
At the last minute, I decided I should bring along my massive Wedding Planning notebook, which was at least 3” thick and comes included with every engagement ring. In fact, it’s mandatory these days when wedding planning. Even though I knew I had all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed, I didn’t want to find myself without a critical phone number should some catastrophe like the photographer not show at precisely the time heretofore agreed upon per our contract. Or something. (Nothing like that happened, by the way. It went perfectly. Or perfectly enough.)
So anyway, I went to pick up the notebook from the floor and – somehow – kicked it instead.
Oh. My. God. The pain was so intense it was akin to childbirth. Or passing a kidney stone. Not that I have ever experienced either of those things, but my shrieks of pain were surely similar. I hopped on one foot as tears streamed down my face and beads of sweat popped out of every pore, including my earlobes.
All the while I was trying desperately to keep from shrieking an incredibly creative string of curse words. To console myself, I just muttered them under my breath. I thought that maybe screaming invectives at the top of my lungs might scare Vince just a little bit and he’d wonder what kind of crazy woman he was marrying . Plus, I frankly didn't want to listen to a lecture from my mother on proper ladylike (and bride-y) behavior.
When I finally regained my composure, I looked down and the first thing I noticed was that the flippin’ polish on my second toenail had chipped off. But then equally horrifying was the fact that my toe was swelling and turning an impressive shade of purple.
The good news was that I was somehow able to walk in my wedding shoes, so I didn’t have to limp my way up and down the aisle. And even more fortunate was that I had the foresight to purchase a bottle of “Chick Flick Cherry” red nail polish, so I was able to fix the chip. Except that I’m pretty sure there were streaks, blobs and the polish extended beyond the perimeter of the nail. But it was so swollen and red and purple, who could possibly have noticed the difference?
One of my cousins helpfully pointed out that I had taken the color theme a little too literally by matching my toe to the colors of the wedding. But, hey, I’m that kinda chick. I like to match!
I am, by the way, convinced that I broke that toe since I couldn’t touch it without pain for about six months, which gave my right foot somewhat of a reprieve from Vince’s killer foot massages. I think the left foot, though, got the extra pummeling.
Anyway, I’m hoping there won’t be a repeat incident tonight. But just in case, my pre-pedicure preparations will include making sure that the massive wedding planning notebook is safely stored in the closet. And…I think I’ll steer clear of Chick Flick Cherry. Perhaps a pale pink color that matches my normal skin tone?
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