Every
once in a blue moon it feels delightfully decadent to take a day off from work
for wallowing in self indulgence. For
me, one of the most blissful ways to treat myself is having a pedicure. In
addition to the pampering, a salon pedicure generally lasts me several weeks.
I
love the whole pedicure experience – soaking my feet in the warm whirlpool
water, reading a book while the massage chair works its magic, basking in the
attention given to my much abused dogs that I’ve forced into unnaturally shaped
shoes with dagger pointed toes and exaggerated arches perched on 4 inches spike
heels. It seems such a luxury to have
somebody else wash and massage my feet, to erase the calluses with a pumas
stone or razor blade, to cull the ingrown toenail, to paint my nails a vibrant
color that will draw attention to my strappy summer sandals.
For
some reason, indulging in a pedicure is more pleasurable during the work week –
when I know that I would otherwise be toiling away writing 28 page letters
nobody really wants to read, or reviewing medical records, or participating in
a conference call or attending a mediation.
It is the ultimate relaxation and the kindest thing I can do for myself –
to care for these wonderful feet that afford me the opportunity to walk, run,
hop, stand, balance, dance, jump, climb, run a sewing machine, and drive a
standard transmission.
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