Pedicures should be prescribed for all

I went for a surprise pedicure last week. Got a text from an old friend who’s one third pregnant and starting to feel it. By 10am Thursday she was already having a stressful day and asked if I wanted to join her for a little relaxation in the form of a pedicure.

In January, I saw her for the first time in over ten years. Still not sure where I want this relationship to settle – strictly monthly dinners? hanging out in groups? pajama parties and sleepovers? – I had to think for a second.

But at 1.5 seconds: YES! Thanks for asking.

So we meet up around dinnerish time. She’s already got two people sitting at her feet, holding court, waving me over.

My attendant for the evening started the water. I rolled up my pant legs and took off my socks.

And here is where I tell you how much I hate cutting toenails:
I fucking hate cutting my toenails. I hate it so much I do it as infrequently as possible, cutting each nail as short as possible. If one grows faster than the rest, I’ll just cut that one (because half the time the other ones are already too short to trim). My baby toenails are close to non-existent. For this reason, I cut off enough of them so you can barely see them at all if they’re painted.
And for all the reasons above, I rarely paint my toe nails so as to not draw attention to them.

So poor guy sees my wildly uneven nails, non-pumiced heels, and I can see the big sigh and “Aww fuck,” rolling around in his head. He smiles. I smile.

He turns on the massager. Oh god I forgot about the massager. One day I will have a chair like that, even if it’s the only chair I own.

All the delightful parts of getting a pedicure take place. The massaging, the exfoliating, filing, and painting. I’m always afraid I’m going to accidentally kick a wonderful person in the face because I’m ticklish and their faces are so damn close to my feet – and at just the right freak-out kicking angle.

To conclude, I’m pretty sure the therapeutic value of a pedicure goes slightly further than the human contact and leg massage. For the last week now, every time I get in the shower I see this bright pink nail polish on my toes and get happy. I changed into flip flops after work yesterday because the temperature went above 20 degrees. And the pink perked me right up. Bet that shit could cure depression.

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