AssPeets Foot
I have man feet. Big, ugly man feet with thick, heavy calluses that crack, peel, and bleed. It's really gross. As a result of this... condition, I get pedicures quite frequently. Honestly, I think it should be covered by my health insurance as preventive medicine. I'm sure it would be cheaper for them than if I stopped going all together and wound up with a raging case of cellulitis like my sperm donor did (he is the genetic mutant, by the way, that passed this lovely pedial trait on to me).
I know it is time to go in and have the bottom of my feet scraped with a straight razor when the actual weight of my foot has increased. It is like having my feet encased in cement. Trust me when I say no wimpy little pumice in the shower is going to help my situation, either. This shit is serious. I could probably get a job as a circus freak, not just walking on hot coals, but standing around on them and eating a Chicago style pizza pie followed by several cannoli and a cappuccino all while nursing a baby and singing Christmas caroles to the toddler strapped to my back. Yes, I know I have undiscovered talent.
And since I actually have been having daydreams of putting together aforementioned act and pitching it to Ringling Brothers, I figured I had better go in and get the pedicure.
When I walked in today, they must have seen me coming. There was a scattering of nail girls to the far reaches of the salon, each one busying themselves with menial tasks like lining up the foot stools and dusting off the fluorescent pink polishes. There was some discussion in the back and I could have sworn I heard two of them playing kai bai bo (rock paper scissors). I was shown to my seat and minutes later out came the losers to work on my tootsies.
I don't blame the poor women. I appreciate them. They scraped and scraped and soaked and scraped for the better part of an hour. A third woman usually has to come midway through to sweep up the huge pile of dead skin that accumulates underneath my feet. Today, they sent two women as clean up crew. As one of the woman was buffing my feet with a sandpaper block, she got a cramp and had to have the other woman massage it away. I'm thinking of maybe investing in an electronic sander and bringing that with next time.
But for me, it was all worth their pain. My feet are soft now. Okay. Not really soft. But smooth. Well, smooth enough that I won't snag my overpriced sheets when I crawl into bed in about ten minutes. That's as smooth as any fat woman with man feet can really ask for.
Total cost was 11 bucks and some change. I gave them each a good tip, too: Next time you see me coming, run like hell to the john and pretend to have food poisoning. I thought it was more useful than the two bucks I was gonna give them.
I know it is time to go in and have the bottom of my feet scraped with a straight razor when the actual weight of my foot has increased. It is like having my feet encased in cement. Trust me when I say no wimpy little pumice in the shower is going to help my situation, either. This shit is serious. I could probably get a job as a circus freak, not just walking on hot coals, but standing around on them and eating a Chicago style pizza pie followed by several cannoli and a cappuccino all while nursing a baby and singing Christmas caroles to the toddler strapped to my back. Yes, I know I have undiscovered talent.
And since I actually have been having daydreams of putting together aforementioned act and pitching it to Ringling Brothers, I figured I had better go in and get the pedicure.
When I walked in today, they must have seen me coming. There was a scattering of nail girls to the far reaches of the salon, each one busying themselves with menial tasks like lining up the foot stools and dusting off the fluorescent pink polishes. There was some discussion in the back and I could have sworn I heard two of them playing kai bai bo (rock paper scissors). I was shown to my seat and minutes later out came the losers to work on my tootsies.
I don't blame the poor women. I appreciate them. They scraped and scraped and soaked and scraped for the better part of an hour. A third woman usually has to come midway through to sweep up the huge pile of dead skin that accumulates underneath my feet. Today, they sent two women as clean up crew. As one of the woman was buffing my feet with a sandpaper block, she got a cramp and had to have the other woman massage it away. I'm thinking of maybe investing in an electronic sander and bringing that with next time.
But for me, it was all worth their pain. My feet are soft now. Okay. Not really soft. But smooth. Well, smooth enough that I won't snag my overpriced sheets when I crawl into bed in about ten minutes. That's as smooth as any fat woman with man feet can really ask for.
Total cost was 11 bucks and some change. I gave them each a good tip, too: Next time you see me coming, run like hell to the john and pretend to have food poisoning. I thought it was more useful than the two bucks I was gonna give them.
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 7:11 AM
8 Comments:
ahhhh yes the tweezerman scraper... we keep one in our house and once in a blue moon I get BRAVE enough to scrape my own feet. I won't get a pedicure unless it's a place I know scrapes, I know it's gross but not all of them do.
I too suffer from man feet. My husband won't let them near him-if they come close, he lets out a Hank Hill shudder...I love making some poor sucker touch them for 20 bucks or so...hee hee hee
I don't have man-feet, but damn, do I love a good pedicure! Like you, I tip totally well, because, you know, feet? All day? ew.
I have man-feet too. But mine are not only calloused and rough, they're wide and Flinstoney. Really gross. I've never had a pedicure. I'm just too embarrassed. So I scrub with the 2 different pummice stones and use the heavy duty, glycolic acid foot cream. It doesn't solve the problem but it's better than nothing. I wish I could get a pedicure but I just can't do it! Oh, to be brave enough to bare these nasty oversized, hobbit-sausage-sandpaper hooves to someone in public. One can dream....
Saw you on someone else's comment section so I wandered over. You're damn funny, girl. I don't do pedicures. I have tortured my feet for far too many years, the shame and guilt I'd feel exposing unsuspecting people to it overwhelms me.
I firmly believe thick socks and sandals are from the devil.
I actully like your feet and no I'm not a perv. They always look so slim and pretty with pretty polish. Those and your legs.
LMAO! Omg, I laughed so hard when you said they scattered when you came in! I don't have man feet but I have flat feet which isn't much better. But really now, aren't feet one of the ugliest things God created?!
OMG. I think we must of been separated at birth! I could of written this post!! The only difference is that I dont get to go get a pedicure very often so I have to duke it out with them (my feet) by myself in my bathroom. But at least the next time I do, I will know that I am not alone, in the man feet club!! :)
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