I’m starting to perform things here at home because, well, I have nothing better to do. This is dangerous. I’m starting to feel better so I have a bit of energy but not enough to be active in a productive manner, like mopping the floors. Moments like these are when I come up with ideas like not shaving, My Crazy Whims. In case you are wondering, no, I haven’t caved in yet and I quit shaving my legs. I trimmed under my arms earlier this summer at the request of my gal pal, sk, but that’s it. The history nerd in me actually did a bit of researching on the topic and discovered that all this shaving non-sense came from the makers of the razors. It was all a marketing ploy in the 1940s. Some body parts are better, in my opinion, if there is some regular maintenance going on. I know I can not go more than four weeks without a hair cut. As soon as the hair on the sides of my head touch my ears, I know it’s time for a trim.
Anyway. . . that was my frame of mind earlier when I decided to give my feet a spa treatment. Don’t judge me. I’d seen sk do this many times and she always seems to enjoy it. What the hell, just go for it. First, let me just say, I don’t like feet. Hate is a strong word I rarely use so when I say I don’t like feet, I really, really, really, really don’t like feet. More specifically, I can’t stand toes. Maybe, because my toes are so crooked, I don’t know. I just know I’m not fond of them. For those of you with feet fetishes, ugh! I almost gave myself a verp. (You know a verp: vomit + berp = verp.) I do not want to see, feel or know that there are toes, mine or others. I do not like humans in open toed shoes. I don’t care if those toes belong to the hottest lady in the world (Sk, for those of you wondering). She better not come at me with her toes.
I had all the items needed: tub of hot water, olive oil soap, wash cloth, towel, pumice stone, lotion, nail cutters and that sharp thing for doing the back of your nails. Hey, I may not know what it’s called but I’ve seen it used and it didn’t look that difficult. So there I was, soaking my feet. OMG, that is the best . . . and you femmes keep it all to yourselves! I soaked my feet for so long I had to add more hot water. So now, I was at the point of no return. I had to follow through with the rest or I had nothing to shock sk when she came home from work. I kept thinking to myself “C’mon R, you grew up on a farm. You’ve had your hands in much worse things than this. Their your own feet for Christ’s sake! Just do it!” So I did.
I trimmed my toe nails and used that sharp tool for the back of the nails. All that was left was the pumice stone and lotion. Lotion, I was okay with, that was self-explanatory. The pumice stone, not so much. I’d seen sk scrub her heels with it. So, that’s what I did. That went pretty well, so I moved to the sides and toes. I was amazed. The soles of my feet felt so soft.
Now, this is where I stopped to call sk for some guidance. Let it be noted I called her personal and work cell phones. If she is with a client, she won’t answer, understandable of course, but that did nothing to help me. I looked at the two cats that had gathered, acting as if my spa session was their personal art performance for the afternoon. Neither one of them offered any help. Here’s what I was thinking. If using the pumice stone on the bottoms of my feet made them feel so good, why stop there, couldn’t I use it on other parts of my body? So I did. I scrubbed the tops of my feet, ankles and legs. I stopped at the knees. No need to go all wild.
I plan on surprising sk tonight in bed. . . if I can keep my big mouth shut. I know, I know, I really need to get out and breathe some fresh air.