Yesterday was Number 7’s last day of preschool and just dropping her off I was already very emotional and I knew I would be a total wreck, so I treated myself to a pedicure, which I hardly ever do.
And I don’t hardly ever do it because of the cost.
I mean, that is definitely a factor.
But it’s not the reason I limit myself to one pedicure per summer.
The reason I rarely get one is because once summer hits, I am barefoot pretty much 24/7.
I just can’t think of any better feeling. Okay, well maybe I can think of one better feeling than going barefoot, but barefoot is in the top 5.
And I love when it’s been hot outside and the sun is starting to set but I walk down the back steps from my house and the stones are still warm under my feet.
And it’s even better when you go from the warm stones to the feeling of the grass being cool under your feet.
Ooooooh. I love that!
But consequently, going barefoot all the time means my heels and the soles of my feet are kind of a disaster.
And yesterday, when the poor woman at the salon picked up my foot and looked at the bottom of it, I think she may have thrown up in her mouth a little bit.
And then she took out that sand papery thing and started going to work on my heels, and I swear to God, she was grunting and moaning like Monica Seles on the tennis court for about ten minutes straight.
I think I may have traumatized her, because as she was winding down the moaning and the sanding and was waiting for her pulse to return to the double digits, she wiped some sweat off her brow with the back of her arm, tapped me on the calf, and pointed at the small mountain of nastiness she had scraped off my heels.
So I guess that’s it until the fall.
Unless I can find a place that has “the industrial pedicure” on their menu.
Then I might just get another one before September.