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March 19, 2003

Going Navel

Since yelling at the radio or marking up Dubya's face in the paper hasn't been cathartic for me, I skipped lunch today and got a pedicure instead. Perhaps it's the power of suggestion, since PS at Hands Free recently got one for the first time. A clean well-lighted place I'd seen before and (rightly) assumed was pricey, but what the hell. The poor gal who had to deal with my feet didn't flinch. She gave me a magazine to read and cleaned, trimmed, scrubbed and sloughed away. She slipped my feet into paper slippers and gave me dark red glossy tootsies, then led me to a seat where I could sit idly while the fan blew air over my toes. If I brown bag it on a regular basis, I can then splurge for minor pamperings such as these. And then maybe, just maybe, I can wriggle my toes in the grass at Bryant Park without shame this summer. Assuming the grass hasn't died due to mustard gas or something.

Yours, &c., LC | 03:48 PM |