"So, do you have time for a foot shave and a toe wax?"


My body is a temple.

A large, complex structure with secrets. One of my secrets is my revolting feet. I insist that I need regular pedicures as is is a medical necessity, a surgical procedure if you will.

I quite often take this time to spend with my beloved friend The Divine Ms M, who sits next to me as we chatter away about not much. After a good soaking, out comes the razor and the Divine Ms M’s face immediately looks like this….

Except she is not in the shower. Or naked.

There are the traditional jokes about “corn flakes” and losing 4 kilos after the foot shave down, but Vivienne, my shaver of choice, makes no judgements, apart from questioning the fact that why, indeed, are we still friends after 20 years.

Yesterday I went to the doctors to get my blood results following my minor meltdown a few weeks back. Fit as a fiddle, I do believe! My toe nails were basically hanging down over the edge of my thongs, and as I clippity clipped my way down the hall, I decided to treat myself to a pedicure.

Do you remember when pedicures were something that you had done, maybe 3 times in your lifetime? You went to the beautician and put down $100 because you were getting married the next day?

Now the are as common as assholes.

I went to a new place. A place that was so empty and grotty, I should have turned around then and there, but as soon as you could say “fungal infection” I was seated with my talons soaking in tepid water.

The two Vietnamese girls got to work. They were both lovely and in their early twenties. The started to laugh, looking at my feet and talking in speedily in their native tongue.

I am kind of used to my feet being made fun of. The excess skin growth, the hard as fuck nails…. So I just asked them.

“Are you laughing at my feet?”

Turns out, not at my feet per say. But at my toes.

But not at my toes per say. The hair sprouting from them.

They asked me if I would like my toes waxed.

For fuck sake! Just one more imperfection that I have to deal with which would have gone unnoticed it it were not for those damn kids….

I thanked them for their concern but assured them that I was ok with my gorilla toes. 

But I did have one rouge nipple hair that, no matter how often I plucked it, it would sprout back stronger and glossier the very next day. Would they care to take a crack at it?

And that, my friends, is how I discovered how to completely shut down a conversation.

Nipple Hair. Le Freak.

Got a rogue hair?
Care to share…where?