So I should probably tell you that when I originally wrote the title “Yeah, I got a pedicure, so what,” a red squiggly line appeared beneath “pedicure.” Let’s be honest, how often have you ever needed to spell the word? My first attempt ended up close to peticure. It still looks right to me, who decides how to spell words anyway? I know, I know, I should have figured it out from the Greek root “ped” which means something close to foot, but oh well. I guess what I’m trying to get across to you is that this was my first pedicure.
To most of you that fact may not come as a surprise. After all, depending on what circles you travel in, men don’t get peticures (sorry, old habits die hard). That’s how it was to me anyway. My wife has asked me a gazillion (approximation) times to get a pedicure and it was something that was completely taboo for me. Don’t ask me why, I can’t tell you. All I can say is that for some reason it has been ingrained in my belief core that men don’t get pedicures. I am a man, therefore I don’t get them. It’s that simple, right?
Well for the first twenty eight years of my life it was anyway. My wife kept asking and I kept saying no. I don’t mean to have my wife sound silly, it’s not like she had some unquenchable desire to get me to a salon. She just thought I would like it and it would help my feet feel better. You see I wear flip flops often. Apparently unbridled flip flop usage can lead to heals that look like an elephant’s backside before a bath at the watering hole. At least that was the case for me. My wife had this bizarre idea that if something could make me feel better I should do it. Weird, I know. Or maybe it wasn’t weird and that would certainly explain why when she asked the same question she had asked so many times before, this time I said “yes.”
When I agreed to this foot procedure it was a Friday. There are only a few places to get a pedicure on the island of Utila that I know of and only one of them is a legitimate salon. It is nestled above the nicest and most expensive grocery store in town called “Bush’s”. In the states, the salon would probably be considered “trailer park” salon. However, in Utila, this is the Beverly hills of Salons. For the record, a pedicure here costs about 8 US dollars. My wife tells me that’s pretty reasonable. In any case, the place is so in demand that we were unable to get an appointment for Friday. We would have to wait until Tuesday. No big deal, it’s just three days and my time would be filled with other activities. My wife however, has a nasty habit of telling people things that she thinks are interesting, like the fact that I would be getting a pedicure with her on Tuesday.
Utila is a fairly small island and we have amassed some friends here over the past few days. It occasionally came up that I was going to get a pedicure. I felt strange at first, almost defensive of my impending appointment. And then for some reason it hit me. Why the hell can’t I want to get a pedicure? What happens? Is my man card revoked and if a pedicure is so spectacular, maybe I should just turn the damn thing in anyway.
In any case, Tuesday arrived and I indeed got a pedicure. No I did not get a pink toe nail polish or a pulmaria flower painted on my big toe nail. But my heels sure do feel better. There was literally a mountain of dead skin cells sitting on Juliet’s lap when she finished scraping them. Juliet was the name of the person who performed my pedicure today (while I’m not sure, I’m pretty sure she is pondering retirement after what she saw today). Some of it sucked, I’m not sure why she was so angry with my cuticles. If you have received a pedicure, you may know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, all I can tell you is that Juliet took some angry looking stainless steel contraption and attacked the base of my toenails. That wasn’t pleasant at all. But at least I know and I have legitimate opinion on Pedicure’s.
I suppose one of the main reasons that I left my job was to separate myself from all of the different noise that surrounded me and simply find out what I want in life and what I really think. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts there are so many things that I believe are true that aren’t called axioms. The longer I’m away on an island with my family in the middle of nowhere the more those axioms become apparent. Many of my novels deal with this theme. Certainly my upcoming book about how to follow your dreams book called The Business of Being Free does. On a serious side I would ask, why do you believe what you believe? One of my favorite author’s, Orson Scott Card wrote the following:
“This is how humans are. We question all our beliefs, except for the ones that we really believe, and then those we never think to question (Speaker for the Dead, pg. 236).”
Yeah, I know, it was just a pedicure, but I cant help but consider as another one of my assumed truths gets blasted into oblivion, how many more do I have just waiting to come down. How much do I limit my happiness by things that simply aren’t true and only seem true because I allow them that position in my mind? Time will tell.
Until next time,
Oh by the way, coming soon I’m going to update some upcoming projects like:
- my children’s book The Three Brothers Go To The Beach
- Some previews of the various novel’s I’m writing
- A new section of my website for Book Reviews
Look for more information soon! Thanks for keeping up with the blog!