So I had a really long, kind of awful day at work filled with ornery people and way too much crap to do. All I could think was that at the end of the day I was cashing in on my free pedicure I had scored the week before. My feet were a mess from riding, running and trekking about all 4th of July weekend and my body was literally aching.
It was a wonderful pedicure, everything a self respecting New Yorker looks for when trying, often in vain, to look after ones feet. Great massage, aloe infused lotion and the perfect shade of pink to hopefully detract from my lovely size 9 1/2 wides. After being certain everything was dry I happily sauntered out of shop and down into the train station without event. I hopped onto the 2 and exited early to hit the grocery store and then walk home. The store was closing as I arrived and I had to step over carts and flat beds and obstacles of every kind but I did so gingerly and conscientious all the while. Then there was the two block walk back to my apartment without so much as a stumble.
I was proud. I even thought as much to myself, smiling as I approached my apartment.
I slid my key into my front door and swung the huge metal monstrosity open, a little too quickly. The pain of the nail of my big toe being crunched back into my skin managed to completely eclipse my bitter disappointment with the now wasted manicure. So, in addition to the lovely shade of pink polish, I now get to sport a big, swollen purple and blue toe.
As always I am the very picture of delicate grace.
Hey, at least the colors are all complimentary. It’ll just join the ever changing mural of scars and injuries that seem to forever adorn me.
Off to watch to Tour!
