I had my very first pedicure today. I mean, sure, I’ve done my own for years, but I’ve never paid someone to do it for me. It was an experience I have very mixed feelings about.

Despite my love and lust for fashion, and despite my all-consuming (and inherited from my mother) vanity, I’m pretty low-maintenance. I don’t really get regular haircuts, and when I do, I tend to go to those cheapie places, get it done, leave with it wet, and get out. Only about twice a year do I “treat” myself to a “real” haircut with the fabulous Mona, and even then, I feel slightly guilty about it. The salon is so lush, and she treats me like a celebrity, or at least, someone important… and that’s a bit weird for this stay-at-home urban mom. And yes, I do get my nails done, but again, I do it on the cheap. I go to the really inexpensive place where they have me in and out of there in less than half an hour. It’s no frills, no entertainment, basic maintenance. Did I mention it was cheap?

But today, I decided that my feet are just too nasty and too rough and frankly, too far away from my hands for me to deal with them anymore. So, knowing myself well enough to know that I am more ticklish than the average toddler, I succumbed to temptation, put myself in the chair, and let a stranger mess with my feet.

Did I mention that I’m VERY ticklish? So much so that my husband approaches every square inch of me with caution, knowing that it’s likely his romantic advances will lead, not to romance, but to me laughing so hard and so uncontrollably that my weak bladder is pushed to its very limits? Are you getting the picture?

I sat down, literally holding my breath as the technician picked up my feet. And then I got tremendously embarrassed. I do shower on a very regular basis, and I do trim my toenails and do all that normal sort of maintenance thing. But do you have any idea how utterly humiliating it is for a virtual stranger to be sitting at your feet, cleaning out your toenails? *shudder* I have no idea how much she gets paid, but I can assure you, it isn’t enough. No amount of money could convince me to sit with a stranger’s disgusting feet between my legs, while I pried old dirt and dead skin from under their toenails.