Last weekend, with no real belief there would be a heatwave, I mused to my husband about getting a pedicure. You know, it’s hard to get moments for self care in my busy life.
“It’s not because of your busy life. You won’t let anyone touch your feet.”
Oh yeah. Been so busy I forgot about that side of having my feet done.
“Also you get annoyed when people mention you have big feet for a short person. Like a hobbit.”
Oh yeah. That too, thanks husband.
Thanks for mentioning the size thing, including the hobbit simile, every time the topic of feet or shoes comes up. I really appreciate it. For the record I’m five foot two and wear a size six. I don’t even think it’s that bad, although in about 2002 I had a flounce out of Chancery Lane Jones Bootmaker because the snooty assistant did and commented on it way too much for someone who wanted me to buy their shoes.
Then, I forgot about my feet. Until Thursday, when I realised that I still had the same chipped nail polish from Christmas, and they looked less than neat. Teacher feet is a thing, you know, and I had them bad.
So, out the window went my pro-pedicure plans and out of the cupboard came my old faithful pound-shop foot mask socks, nail polish remover and some fresh polish in a nude shade (very forgiving with chips, if a bit boring) and my old faithful Seche Vite (the only top coat worth having). I did not have to shave my feet though (I’m not completely Hobbit) but by the end of the day, I could just about get away with sandals at the many, many birthdays and days out stacked up for this last weekend. Phew.
Well, phew until … my sandals broke! What!
At least the weather’s changing back I guess…