Thought you might be interested in this story, true every word except for when I employ artistic liscence (big whackies).
My wife, Grimpella bought me a pedicure (my first ever) as a Christmas present. This was in reality a present for her more than me, as my calloused and gnarly feet ever feel like two cinder blocks in the bed. She couldn't wait (never can) and took me to get it on Xmas eve. They were supposed to close at 2PM that day, and we didn't arrive until 1:10, so I thought the place would be empty...but NO! Tiny nail shop crammed full of women and small children... I was hestitant to show my ugly feet to an unreceptive world, but I really didn't have to worry about it for long... the instant my shoes & socks were off, the place was suddenly empty... I noticed less traffic on the highway out front ... heard a couple of sirens begin to wail... I could have caused an accident.
Grimpella had told me to wear "loose" pants, as leg rubbing was involved. I told her that I could not be held responsible for anything to happen once a strange woman began rubbing my leg... I have this "thing" about women rubbing my leg... She promised to stay near and hit me on the head with a chair if I began to lose control of myself.
I was first put in a raised chair that was supposed to have this back-massage thing happening that didn't happen, and told to put my feet into a basin that looked to be boiling or had several pirhanna in it busily devouring a Wildebeast. Turns out it was just boiling, no hungry fishies. The small Chinese woman (I assume she was Chinese, I couldn't understand a blasted thing she said, and I doubt she heard my warning about the leg-rubbing protion of the floor show) began to lay out the utensils of doom as the hot water did its' intended function of removing the skin from the bones.
As soon as normal peoples toes have turned into dumplings, she had me remove my right foot from the basin and began trying to trim the nail on my big toe with a pair of toenail clippers. She pushed on the tool with everything in her 47-pound body, but did not succed in any dent that could be determined by modern archeology or the Dewey Decimal System. Next she picked up a pair of heavy-duty scissors that one might use to amputate the leg from a Rhiocerous. Not happening. So off she goes to the tool box. POWER TOOL time! She returned with something I saw once in a bank-robbery movie. Much noise and smoke ensued, and it was assumed that something was happening that was supposed to be happening. Eventually the nails are trimmed. It is now 2:10 and the Chinese woman in a heavy sweat.
Now it is time for the other foot. She goes to the phone, and I assume she is calling for assistance from the guys who carved Mount Rushmore. Eventually the nails on the left foot are pruned. The other employees are milling about in wonderment, and as they move about it sounds like folks walking on walnut shells. When the nail from my left big toe finally broke free, it shot up and broke a light fixture. It is now a quarter to four.
Now begins the task of removing the callouses. She takes out this dainty-looking thing and puts a small version of a safety-razor blade into it. I see the other employees have begun some sort of gambling event that this thing will actually hack off the bark from my feet. The crowd huddled around the store-front windows join in, and I hear whisperings that the pot has grown to several million dollars (give or take a few million). She goes at the task with great elan and gusto not seen since the Charge up San Juan Hill. Four-score and seven blades later, she is satisfied with the results. An armored car pulls up out front to settle the bets. I look down at the floor around my chair...
"Hey you took enough off my feet to make another Chinaman, didn't you?"
She looked up at me, holding a scalpel, and replied "You velly funny man! Now time for cuticars!"
She goes about the task of activating a few billion previously unknown nerve endings, and ignores me as I pick out a bottle of lime-green nail polish loud enough to keep the neighbors up. She then proceeds to apply medicated goo from an assortment of ketchup bottles, and begins the rubbing thing. I cut my eyes at my wife. She has a chair over her head, but the poor Chinese woman is so worn out by now that I do not even feel the rubbing.
At last, she is finished. It is now 7:30, and time to go home. My shoes no longer fit. I can almost wear them backwards I have been so reduced from my previous state. The Chinese woman is now a mere shadow of her former self, and it was the shadow from a daffodil when she began. I can scarcely see her. We tip her a dollar and go out, stopping to pick up my shoes every few steps. I may never play the violin again!
My feet are so slick now... my wife is much pleased, but I can't keep them in the bed... they keep sliding out from under the covers, and I spend all night dreaming that I am doing the limbo dance. My wife is happy that I no longer whittle on her legs with my rough feet, and the Chinese woman is happy that I am gone for another 49 years. I don't know how happy I am about the whole thing... I need lots more socks now to keep my shoes from falling off.
Hope you have enjoyed this touching holiday story... I get all misty just writing it, and I know how it comes out.
