in an effort to try something new- sea urchin sushi being a little too "fear factor" for my diminutive palate- i got a professional pedicure. san diego's finest filipina ladies got to work on my, apparently very crusty, size 5's.
i have experienced turbulence more relaxing.
pedicures would be infinitely more tolerable if they didn't involve such intimate contact with the feet. i am violently opposed to having my instep touched- and not in an 'ooh, that tickles' way- more 'ooh, that triggers a 3.5 richter scale seizure' sort of way. and once lolita had recovered from the shocking sight of a black toenail and crusty callus barnacles- note: she was the only pedicurist to put on a face mask (and not in a swine flu kind of way)- she got to work using tower of london torture paraphernalia. fortunately, there was plenty of real time reality tv to distract; a perimenopausal primadonna to the left, informing us all that she had just come from a massage/practicing macrobiotic pilates for the third time that week was pipped at the post by the SoCal norman rockwell family; mum, dad, colour co-ordinated pre-teens texting on their dooney and bourke blackberrys.
rather like baskin and robbins, the pedicuree can order extra features for an additional fee; french, french with sparkly bits hot glue gunned on, rainbows, sparkly rainbows with leaping leprechauns astride sparkly unicorns. i opted for 'stubbed and bleeding toenail'.
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