I Gagged and Turned Green

I just looked over in time to see Cydney lying on the floor perfectly still, except for her toes; they were wiggling happily while she reclined.  Watching those little girls moving about made me wonder, ‘why do we have toes anyway?’  Really, I do wonder.  Is there a legitimate reason to have five knarly creatures sprouting from the ends of each foot?  And yet, is there anything cuter than baby and kid feet?  Nothing at all I say,  Those itty bitty little kernals so small and pink…absolutely adorable…free from any offensive odors they just sit innocently atop each foot just awaiting the day when baby will discover them, and yea, a new toy has been found that offers hours of drooling pleasure.  Kids feet, still cute, starting to stink, needing attention, overall doing the job.  The problem is, they all eventually turn into …
Adult feet … UGH.  Take a look around, they are nasty ugly!  Cracked heels, overgrown nails, dry, smelly, cracked, gag-inducing, feet.  Why is it the worst offenders are always the ones walking about in their flip-flops, (formerly known as thongs, but somehow morphed into tiny bits of fabric used for peaking out of female clothing).  Why? I ask; Why?
There I was sitting comfortably in the magical massaging pedi recliner enjoying a nice soak while those angels whose life mission is to actually touch and bring comfort to others feet are preparing to remove my old polish.  I look over just in time to see what has to be the ugliest sight ever … yes, old lady feet!  Oh gag!  Those mangled gals should never be allowed to breathe in the open air outside of their owners home!  Worse yet, the sweet little Vietnamese gal attending to these abominations is actually having to shave the dry skin away from the heels.  Suddenly, I know I will never be able to look at a cheese shaver in the same way.  Disgusting curls of dry skin are mounding on the towel.  I start to gag, yes gag, at that horrendous sight.  I am light-headed, my stomach starts to roil … I have to put my head down on my knees!  I hear giggling nearby, peak up to see (and hear) what seems to be every single person in the salon staring at the weirdo that can’t handle the sight next door.  I try my best to act natural, after all, I don’t want to offend the woman whose feet have so offended me.  No, I smile, look away, and try mightily to block that nightmare from my brain.  Dear, sweet Lord, please deliver me safely from this salon without making an utter fool of myself.  I survive and live to see another day.  I continue to praise the men and women that are willing to touch and heal other peoples appendedges, for I do not possess the strength of will or the iron stomach to do that job.  I am not what could ever be described as having a ‘foot fetish’.  No, once those critters have reached, adulthood, out of sight – out of mind is my motto. 
Toes, not sure their function but we certainly do need feet to walk.  They have a purpose, indeed they do.  But folks, let’s keep those dried-out, knarly-nailed ones, housed quietly inside a nice pair of sensible shoes.  Thanks!

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