On Pedicures and Peeves

While some folks seek only to beautify their feet and toes with soaking, exfoliating, trimming, filing and painting, I have a philosophical commitment to pedicures. I acknowledge that we depend on our feet to support us our entire lives, no matter how much we weigh. There are whole humans who can’t or won’t fulfill that need for us, though we expect these boney little platforms to do so. You have to admit, it’s a lot to ask of a body feature that probably comprises about 3 percent of our total bulk. If we were buildings, we would collapse once we reached puberty.

And yet, we don’t. Our feet carry us on our way, wherever that may lead us. So I’ve promised my feet that I will take care of them, and that means a monthly pedicure at RoseyToes Mani/Pedi Lounge. It’s pricier than other cattle-call, pick-color-you-pay-me-now salons. What you get in this loft of pampering is much like a facial for your feet. Plus, they use stainless steel tubs, which they scrub and sterilize after each use. My favorite part of the process is the ten-minute foot and calf massage, followed by a hot towel wrap. Oh, sweetness. The gallons of angst that wash away down the drain of that place.

So you will understand my dismay when, on my last visit, the customer sitting next to me answered her clamoring cell phone, right in the midst of my massage. The ring was the first couple bars of Rod Stewart, singing “Maggie May”: Wake up, Maggie, I think I got something to say to you… I used to enjoy this song, but it’s ruined forever for me, because a squinchy-faced, ultra-apologetic woman (“Sorry, I have to take this, I’m buying a new computer.”) held forth 20 minutes with techno chatter, including an argument with her teenage son, to whom she wished to give the old, restored computer, but the son was having none of it. He wanted a new one, just like the machine she was purchasing. I don’t know if I was angrier with the woman or with myself because I was too polite to suggest she save her business for later.

But now I’m using our blog for that very purpose: Wake up, lady, and all other cell phone zealots, I think I got something to say to you. Unless there’s an emergency, you don’t HAVE to take a cell phone call. You don’t HAVE to make the dribs and drabs of your personal life public. All of it can WAIT an hour until you are home or hermetically sealed in your car. Here’s another tip: a bathroom stall doesn’t qualify, nor does a booth in a restaurant.

I have a pedicure next Wednesday. I pray that I can care for my deserving feet in peace, and that you will do your part to protect sacred American spaces from the yammering national compulsion of cell phones.

Happy 4th of July, everyone!