I got served the above ad on Instagram. I’m not on the market for slippers (I have 11 pairs which are now considered “office appropriate footwear”), but the ad did catch my eye.
“Woosie,” I said, “Check out the phalanges on that one.”
“Are you sexually harassing some random model’s toes?” my husband asked.
“I mean, look at that fresh, milky color, those big, buff nails. Damn, she’s got a perfect set of cuticles.”
“Should I be worried?”
“HAVE YOU EVER SEEN SUCH PERFECT NAIL BEDS???”
Never have I been so moved by advertising. I tell you, I wanted that pedicure. I could feel the cheese grater exfoliating my heels, smell the pineapple foot mask, feel the warmth of hot paraffin envelop my freshly massaged hooves. I was lusty for the those toenails. I am unfamiliar with this level of thirst.
Yeah, I know, there are bigger things I should be pining for and trust me, I want those things too.. But the heart wants what the heart wants. In the meantime, I’ll quench my thirst with a small ode to my missing monthly maintenance.
ODE TO A PEDICURE
When I am barefoot, my toes scratch the floor
I cannot look at these claws anymore
The chipped and cracked remains of Aurora Berry-alis pink,
hold on to the tips like a cabin boy about to sink.
Maintain them yourself, you say! Oh good god, no!
Too much time has passed, this is a job for a pro.
Ankles scratched when I wake up from sleep
Is there a vicious sabertooth cat under my sheet?
Nope, that is me, shredding my own skin
Soon I will look like the missing spouse of Carol Baskin.
