I have a confession to make. Or to be completely honest, I have several confessions to make. All my life I’ve never ever got myself a manicure. Or a pedicure. Or got my eyebrows plucked. Or went to a beauty salon to get my legs, armpits or whatever body part waxed. So well, now you know: I’m not a Brazilian waxxer. If it’s confession time, I’ll have to leave nothing out, right?
Why I’m not into all this pamper stuff above? Sure, I’m a girly girl. But I’m a independent girly girl. Most of the money I make disappears right into thin air… Or should I say: into the pockets of the ones who sell me all those gorgeous shoes, bags & clothes in the world. So if it’s up to me, I won’t spend another dime on making myself more ladylike in a so-called professional beauty salon. I need all my money for my shop addiction. And why should I? I’m perfectly capable of polishing my own nails (finger & toes), plucking my own eyebrows and making sure that my body doesn’t turn into a hairy canary. Works fine for me, and up till now (27 years of age) I haven’t received any complaints whatsoever.
Since this summer the situation changed. After spending 3 weeks on the beach and walking bare feet or in flip flop,s my precious feet suddenly decided to act rebellious. I don’t know why (didn’t they like playing in the sand, sun & sea?) but my feet weren’t acting like my feet anymore. Why were the soles of my feet aching? And burning? And why did my soles seem to peel like snakes do as a living? And where were the ditches the size of the Grand Canyon coming from? Panic! How on earth could I set a molested foot outside my apartment wearing the cutest sandals, wedges or even flip flops? What would people think of
After some 911 emergency visits and calls to my friends (“Are you sure that you can’t remove the loose skin with that file kind a thing?” How was I supposed to know that’s called pumice?) there was only one solution. I couldn’t deny, fight or struggle any longer. This pedicure virgin had to go have a pedicure. A real, official pedicure. From someone who has a degree in pedicure science.. Well, my ‘someone with a degree in pedicure science’ turned out to be a lovely young Chinese girl, who happened to speak a rather incomprehensible language. But no problem, we were able to communicate by signs. After a nice soothing dip for my damaged feet, I had to lie down. The girl handed me over a bunch of magazines to read, while she was pampering my feet. Pampering? I wished! Just before I started to lose myself in the latest LA gossip, I saw a set of glistening, dangerously looking tools in the hands of my someone. WTF? What was she going to do with those nasty scissors? Not to mention the big shiny clamps… Breath in, breath out. She wasn’t going to chop off my feet, was she!?
I can ensure you; she didn’t cut off any body parts. After the treatment I did a quick count of my toes, and yes, all ten were still
there! But it was a close call. She scraped, filed and clipped like she was a construction worker. At one time she even gazed at me if I was from outer space! If I understood correctly, she said: “Are you for real, woman? Why on earth didn’t you come see me before your feet practically dried up and turned into a graveyard?” Or something like that. After a sweaty and uncomfortable hour I was extremely glad my treatment was finished. When my someone started to threaten with a Medical Pedicure (yikes, does that feel as scary as it sounds?) I knew it was my cue… I flew out of the room and told my self: I’ll be wearing socks and knee-high boots for the rest of my life!
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