Walking the beach: natures pedicure.
These size 5 ladies shoe feet of mine. They have been jammed into point shoes, dragged across balance beams and spun on for floor routines. I've walk miles in heals and even further in slippers. I've stood on them for days and sat on them for hours. They are oddly shaped and my pointer toe is longer than any other toe on my foot. My pinky is so small that I swear that it doesn't even grow a real nail and I've had a grand total of 4 pedicures in my life. Maybe 5. I've had people come up to me off the street or even at the opera and comment on the size of my feet. How small they are; how dainty. I've dated people who have loved my feet, hated my feet and never really looked at them. I've spent many a' summer never wearing shoes, developing nice, firm calluses on the bottom only to find I can't get my feet perfectly clean in September. My mum has a tendency to always step on them. With shoes so I have a thing about my toes getting crushed. I have to wear slippers when I am inside. Or at least socks. The closest I come to ever looking after my feet is trimming the nails and putting cream on them every night.
The worst thing I have ever gotten on my feet was tree sap. A few summers ago I was climbing a pine tree with a friend of mine late one July night. I ended up with sap all over my feet and it took weeks to get it off. I have since discovered that oil and salt mixed together does the trick (this summer I was playing in the trees again, collecting pine cones and ended up with sap all over me AGAIN. I should have worn gloves but since when do I think ahead? My hands were a mass of sap, pine needles and bits of pine cones and dirt. Then a bird pooped on my head and I couldn't do a thing about it because of the condition of my hands). At least the sap had a nice earthy smell.
Or maybe it's all the times that I take my shoes off for dancing. My feet have stepped in a lot.
The best thing I have ever felt on my feet was the soft sand in the warm tidal pools of a low tide beach. Digging my toes into the sand.
I have memories of a time when I would spend New Years at the Barrett household. They have a tradition of running through the back door and in the front right at the strike of midnight (out with the old and in with the new). Here in Calgary, Alberta, Canada it is common for New Years eve to be well below freezing with icy, crusty snow covering the ground. I have picture of ice red feet, sore from embarking on a drunken British tradition.
I treat my feet as if they were tanks. Sure, I give them soft cozy wool socks to rest in but really, they take a lot of abuse. But they never retaliate (unless, I've made them angry by standing on marble floors in 6' stilettos). They are always there, keeping me going, Keeping me standing and keeping me grounded. As I look at them I see that I need to give them a little attention. They have the remnants of an old pedicure chipping off the nails. They could also use a little exfoliation and maybe a little yoga.
Love your feet.
I know a girl who wanted to be a registered massage therapist but refused to go through the schooling because she didn't want to touch feet. Actually, I know a guy who is the former offencive linemen for the Calgary Stampeders who hates feet so much that he obsesses over them while on holidays. Often getting so upset that he has to leave the pool area. He makes his wife get a pedicure once a week.
Do you love your feet or do you think they are disgusting. What about other peoples feet?