Shalah visited me during Christmas break. We went out for pedicures as Shay had some Tree Climbers developing and my feet were evolving into something more suitable for mountain survival. If I did not intervene my bare feet would be more suited for walking on icy roads then my yak tracks!
I got to pick both of our colors and then we climbed into the overstuffed chairs at the salon. I had my usual lady who is a bit of a ditz but she does a good job and makes me laugh. Shalah had no one less than the salon’s owner to attend to her feet.
“I just want to warn you,” I said to her, “my friend might kick or scold you during her pedicure.”
“I don’t like my feet to be touched,” Shay explained.
“Yeah, well, I just want them to know because I have to come back here,” and then to the owner, “She, however, is not from here so…don’t worry.”
The pedicurist laughed it off and was unafraid of Shalah who was looming over her with a sinister brow and wild eyes.
The tubs of warm water were brought out and Shalah and I revealed our feet.
“You have the prettiest feet I have ever seen!” exclaimed Shay’s gal.
“Really?” Shalah asked.
“Oh, you don’t have to say that,” I laughed, “I’m surprised you have a tub big enough for her feet.”
Shalah and I laughed and the pedicurist tried to tell us that the people with the biggest complexes about their feet usually have the prettiest ones.
“I love my feet! They never gain weight,” I declared while wiggling my toes.
While the gals worked our feet over I did hear Shay’s lady repeatedly tell her to sit back and relax but the fact that she did not get kicked in the face or chastised even once is evidence of her talent.
When our pedi’s were finished I bent down to unroll my pant legs. While in this unattractive position I spotted one hole on each of my inner thighs.
“Oh no! My thighs are rubbing holes in my jeans!”
“You could just patch them,” suggested my pedicurist. Obviously she is not the brightest, as two patches on the inside of ones THIGHS would only draw attention to that area and no one wants that, but she sure makes my feet purty.
The discovery is sad because it means that my favorite pair of perfectly worn in jeans must be removed from service and a new pair purchased. (Jean shopping…ug.) It also means that my thighs are rubbing together. A lot. Evidently there is enough friction going on there to cut away at threads of cotton. This could easily have been a fire hazard!
The following day I chose a sweater to wear but found it to be too tight in the middle, the bust and in my arms. (Basically everywhere a sweater should cover…) I had an appointment that day with my nutritionist. I don’t know how much I gained but from our conversation I know that there was one. Poop.
Let me just say that I am glad the Holidays are over because now I can quit eating, quit drinking and get back on schedule with exercising. Hooray.
The party is over, people! The party is over.