The thing is, public speaking is nothing like writing. When I begin to stammer, my voice quakes, and I misuse words or draw a blank, I can't blurt out "backspace, backspace, backspace." Those assholes are stuck with me fumbling around until I get my bearings again - if I ever regain them at all. This ought to be a riot.
That's not what this post is about though. This is just to crack my creative knuckles.
Let's have a moment of silence to pay tribute to some true heroes; those people who touch our feet at the nail salon. I SAID SILENCE - QUIT LAUGHING!!
Sure, the doctor that cures that nasty (and not talked about) rash you have is pretty dope. The veterinarian that takes care of your pet that you were sure wasn't going to make it is a fucking godsend. But have you considered the cosmetologist who's seated on an uncomfortable little stool and fucks with your gnarly feet while barely speaking for hours on end? Probably not. I hadn't given it much thought either until just the other day.
I was at the salon getting my nails done when the "kind" woman repeatedly asked me, rather annoyingly, if I wanted a pedicure. No, bitch, I didn't want one the first time you offered, this third offer hasn't made me any more ready to kick off my sweaty gym shoes. I have no desire to put myself through that kind of shame. Nor do I wish hardship of that sort on these women. Except for that woman with the platform sandals; she's been eyeballing me hard since I arrived. Fuck her.
Pedicures must be where they make the real money. Perhaps it's why they jam it down your throat like a 16-yr. old boy trying to French kiss for the first time. When that doesn't work, they'll try sneaking it up the back of your skirt; like an over-eager teen who's already been told "no."
Recalling all the times I have had a pedicure done, I shudder. Some nasty-ass shit happens in those spa chairs. Things that shouldn't be seen, let alone repeated.
These cosmetologists subject themselves to some downright nauseating sights in the name of the almighty dollar. You can't pay me enough to hoist your lifeless limb, with all its nasty veins, bruises, and skin folds, into the air & then scrub away at foot cheese. Fuck that, and fuck you very much.
Oh, you're hoping we can make small talk? Sure, let's talk about how you need to take better care of your goddamn feet. Did you know that your toenails are 3" thick and three different shades of yellow? I need a fucking chainsaw to do any real damage to these sonsofbitches.
There are 4 people right now that are super pissed off at me. Why are you fungus shaming people? I'm not. Get over yourself. Get your situation cleared up and get over yourself. I'm honoring the people that touch your hideous feet.
Be honest, you don't even like your feet. That's why you pay someone else to touch them. 5 bucks shouldn't even scratch the surface of what these folks are due. I've seen toes that cross the toes next to them like they're creating some forever secret pact. I've seen toenails that are blackened and bumpy. What the fuck is that shit about? Vanity is a fucked up thing. I want to be attractive and feminine but at what cost? To myself and others?
It's been more than 5 months since I last went in for a pedicure. I'm a cheap-ass. There's nothing wrong with my toes and my varicose veins haven't quite made the "Dear God, put them bitches away" list yet. I'm hoping to achieve this soon. My dream is to never again wear shorts and move to cooler temps.
I'm naturally of a pale-ish olive complexion. Somewhere between "Mexican looking" and "please don't leave me at the border crossing, I don't know how to knife fight yet."
Wherever we move, I want to be the darkest bitch in the hood. I want to be the woman the locals flock to for ideas and recipes for multicultural events and potlucks.
These are just wistful dreams. Let's back to those nasty feet.
All I'm saying is this: the next time you set your hobbit feet into a tub of water and make bullshit small-talk with someone who's probably been hunched over stank feet for the last four hours, dig deep when you tip.
Remember, you're no peach to deal with either. You're probably asking for some ridiculous shit like a flower on the wrong goddamn toe, or you're one of those insufferable bitches that are never satisfied. And for fuck's sake, don't immediately try to put on shoes and fuck up the whole damn thing then get pissed like it's their fault. There's a special place in Hell for you bitches.
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