Bob sorry for all the foot-dragging

Bob sorry for all the foot-dragging by Bob Karolevitz Phyllis dragged me kicking and screaming into the beauty salon.

It wasn't that I had anything against the gals there. As a matter of fact, I liked them all � but Phyllis had scheduled me for a pedicure, and I didn't want to play footsies with somebody I hardly knew.

(I found out later that the gift certificate she had was really hers, and she used it to lure me into the pulcritude parlor, knowing that I never let anything go to waste.)

But a pedicure yet!

"I don't want anybody messing with my feet, even if it's a good-looking girl," I loudly exclaimed.

Phyllis kept her cool, though, and tried to calm me down by saying: "Jesus of Nazareth washed the feet of his disciples, and he didn't mind."

"Well, I don't care what Jesus did," I bellowed. "He didn't trim toenails either, and that's what a pedicure is."

Once inside the shop, I put on a happy face. After all, I didn't want the hair-curling operators to think I was an old fuddy-duddy. Like World War II I would go through with it � but it didn't mean I had to like it.

Heather, the gal who was supposed to do the nefarious deed, was all smiles as she led me into a private room and closed the door. Phyllis didn't even come with me to hold my hand. Before I knew it, I was alone with another woman.

But it wasn't like Abu Ghraib at all!

I took off my shoes and socks, soaked my feet in lukewarm water, and Heather went to work.

She trimmed, buffed and applied a gritty substance to my bare tootsies. She said the stuff had sugar crystals in it, which was why it felt like that. I guess it had nothing to do with giving me a sweet personality.

Next she rubbed some sort of gooey clay mixture on my feet. I didn't know what it was for, but by now I figured she knew what she was doing.

Then came the massaging!

It felt wonderful � and right then I was sorry I was so reticent about coming to the beauty shop in the first place.

I was wrong, wrong, wrong. Should I apologize for my lousy attitude, or should I just let it go as if nothing had happened?

I decided on the latter because the gals didn't know the pedicure had caused so much foot-dragging.

When it was over, Phyllis wanted to know how I liked it. And being the husband-type, I told her it was okay. I didn't want to let on that she was right, so I gave her a so-so answer.

You can spoil a wife if you give her too much credit.

By the way, I then asked her if she had any more gift certificates!

© 2005 Robert F. Karolevitz

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