May I Have a Manicure?

Ped Ache

Hand Tools
Lolita and Ruth, in-tow once again for another girlish extravaganza, are both pedicure fans. They enjoyed the pedicures they got that day. Their nail technician, however, was a different matter. He was a clean-cut man with glasses and a general air of pleasant approachability. I didn't notice his hands from my vantage point, so I was shocked to hear what Lo and Ruth told me after we'd left the day spa.

Apparently, he kept the nail on his pinkie finger quite long and well-shaped, and he had a professional objective in doing so.

“He was using it like a tool,” Lolita said.

What do you mean?

“He was, like... digging around in there with it. It was disgusting.”

You mean he...

“Yup.” Lolita nodded. “Yup.”

Ruth added, “Yeah, that wasn't pleasant.”

I wouldn't think it would be.

“It was a little disturbing.”

I suppose in a way I really admire that kind of devotion to one's job. How many people do you know who show such selflessness and resourcefulness? Or maybe I'm just fooling myself because, honestly? That's just wrong.

By now you've probably figured out that I'm a pragmatist when it comes to matters of beauty. That's why I gave up on my feet a long time ago. I would say that 99% of the feet in this world are beyond help in terms of their appearance. Feet are odd-looking. They're chunky in some spots and bony in others. They terminate in toes, which are basically fingers only stupid. The skin on the heels and ball mounts is tough and thick because it has to be. And after a few years of wearing dress shoes, feet are twisted and smashed into ever-weirder configurations.

My feet in particular are beyond saving. They're far too big for my 5' 7” frame. They're flat and frequently sweaty. They have random tufts of hair sprouting out of them. My toenails have a rebellious streak and my big toes could be used to plug a bathtub. I've tried pampering my feet with various creams; that just made them slippery. I've tried painting the nails; that just draws attention to them and how completely bizarre they look. So I've resigned myself to a basic foot care regime of regular cleaning and massage, with the occasional scuffing of a pumice stone thrown in for good measure.

Still, I love the idea of pampering feet. Feet work very hard, day in and day out, dragging the rest of us all over the place. So when presented with an excuse to get a pedicure, I jumped all over it.

This pedicure was part of a half-day spa package that also featured the extraction-based facial reviewed last month and the fancy-pants manicure described elsewhere in this issue. I chose a fiery red for my toenails in honor of my favorite hockey team. Then I was escorted to a beige plastic chair with a small jacuzzi full of water attached to the front of it. This particular chair was heated and had a massage function. I sat down, thrust my feet into the swirling water and prepared to enjoy my experience.

The pedicurist poured a number of interesting pellets into the tub, ostensibly to soften my feet. The net effect of all the swirling and warming and massaging sort of made me feel like wetting myself. I resisted this temptation.

After a good ten minutes of soaking, I pulled my feet out one at a time to have them dried with a soft towel. The pedicurist then attacked my heels and ball mounts with what looked like a strip of sand paper mounted to a shoe horn. She wiped my feet down once more and rubbed in some lotion. Then the toe torture began.

You may think you know how ticklish your feet are. Let me tell you, until someone else tries to clip, tidy and varnish your toenails you have no idea. The poor pedicurist struggled valiantly as my feet jerked involuntarily. I would love to tell you every step of this process, but I was forced to concentrate so hard on not laughing or inadvertently kicking anyone that I lost track of the details. I know that my cuticles were pushed back, my toenails were shaped, and any hangnails were removed.

After all of the tugging and tickling and drying time, guess what? My feet looked exactly the same, only with bright red nails. The polish lasted considerably longer than any store-bought and home-applied lacquer. My feet felt sticky and sweaty, not really too much softer. And my toes felt funny. I don't really know how to describe it, except to say that I was very aware someone had been fiddling with them. Overall the pleasant parts of the pedicure process were far outweighed by the discomfort involved. I still want to believe in the myth of agreeable foot pampering, but for the time being I think I'll stick with my basic routine.