Today, thanks to peer pressure (hi Irene!), I had a...pedicure! For the first time in my life I let some strange Asian woman perform the most cringe-worthy maneuvers on my tootsies and I'm still alive to tell the tale. Had it not been for the fact that I firmly believe in the superstition to appease every whim of a pregnant woman lest you be cursed, I never would have gone through with it.
So how was it? It was not without it's traumatic moments. Twice she grabbed my ankles and I winced and grimaced so she finally got the message not to do it again. When she was filing the nails on my toes I thought I was going to die. Luckily I still remembered my Lamaze breathing and had Tara Reid's botched plastic surgery story to help distract me. When she pulled out the pumice stone I had the strongest desire to get up and run away barefoot onto Eighth Street, but I composed myself and concentrated on whether or not the Us Weekly readers really thought that Scarlett Johanson was the sexiest woman alive. By the way, 67% agree.
Would I do it again? I suppose it wasn't so bad, but I would not make a weekly ritual of it. Maybe if I'm going to a wedding or on vacation, I'll bite down on a leather strap and get it over with, but other than that I'm happy with giving myself a pedicure, thank you very much.
And this certainly does not mean that my phobia has disappeared. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to grab my ankles, massage my feet OR touch my toes (this means you, Mari). Unless of course you have a death wish...I'm just saying...
*smooches...in a sexy new shade of red*
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to all the people out there tonight
who are comforting themselves
if you should happen to see my light
you can stop and ring my bell
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