Big Feet

Notice I did not say Bigfeet as in Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Yeti, or, my all-time favorite, Woodbooger? That’s because this post really is about feet. As in, my feet.

Why feet? Because I got a pedicure the other day. That may not be a big deal for some people, but for me it is huge. No pun intended.

I am tall. I have big feet. They are not particularly attractive, either. When I was younger, my feet got ridiculed regularly. I was told they were ugly. And big. Not to mention ugly because they were big. That stuck with me. So I tend to hide my feet under socks, in closed-toes shoes, under sand or water (when at the beach), etc.

Yes, I know that sounds stupid and irrational. Really, it’s evidence that bullying, i.e., frequent ridicule, really does leave scars. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.

I used to have a large bunion on my left foot, too. It was removed when I was in my early 30s, or around there. Since then, I have hated to have anyone touch my feet. I don’t know why.

Many folks I know talk about loving to get foot rubs, wanting people to touch and/or massage their feet, LOVING pedicures, etc. Even men. It always sounded awful to me. Seriously awful. And the last time I got a pedicure, years ago, which I think was the second one I’d ever had, I was seriously weirded out by the tech massaging my legs. I was all like, “WTF?! I was supposed to get a pedicure on my feet, not a full body massage!” I suffered silently through the whole thing, but never went back.

I hate the thought of getting a massage, too. Again, I know that sounds stupid and irrational to some. To me, it just sounds invasive, and I cannot imagine relaxing while some stranger is touching all over me.

Anyway… while I was visiting Amy, I decided to do something really drastic, as in WAY outside of my comfort zone. I figured what the Hell, maybe it would shock me back into normalcy.

So I went all by myself and got a pedicure. And a manicure, so all my digits would match.

I did not give the tech any instructions. My inner voice was saying, “Tell that bitch not to rub your feet. Or your legs. A pedicure means feet!” But I kept my mouth shut, used my yogic breathing technique, and let her do her thing.

It was awesome.

If only I could have bridged the language gap well enough to explain to the pedi tech why, exactly, I insisted on her giving me a high five when she finished.

I am not the only one with big feet. When I found these shoes in Amy’s closet, I assumed they belonged to her husband. As it turns out, they belong to Gaige, my sixteen year old grandson. How is it possible that he’s that big already?

Most women wear cute, open-toed shoes to the nail salon. I wore the only open-toed shoes I could find. So I didn’t mess up the polish. As it turns out, I chose gel polish. It dries almost instantly. I could have worn my own shoes, complete with socks.

I am still learning. Next time, I will know!

As an aside… I chose a really bright, loud color to remind myself of my accomplishment. Not because I think it looks great.

It did NOT shock me back to normalcy, but it still feels pretty good. I successfully silenced that mean inner critic.

Baby steps are still steps in the right direction, right? RIGHT!