A Little TLC Can Make You Footloose

It is never too late for one to set out on new adventures.

The other day, for example, I had my first pedicure. A few times in my life I have had manicures, but never a pedicure.

The need arose because I find it hard to cut my toenails. For one thing, diabetics are warned not to cut their own toenails for fear of inflicting a wound that could lead to blood poisoning and the loss of a leg. That made it seem hardly worth the risk.

For another, my right leg is rather unmanageable because of my stroke, and I find it hard to bring my foot up high enough to work on the nails. Besides, my toenails are hard and tough, about the consistency, I would imagine, of a rhinoceros horn.

My wife offered to trim them for me, but she was unable to cut through them with my fingernail scissors. “Why don’t you go get a pedicure?” she suggested.

I had heard of pedicures, of course, but I had supposed that only women got them. Women often paint and display their toenails in public, and it was only natural that they would want them to look trim. Besides, I supposed, pedicures were a function of the beauty shop, not the barber shop. I couldn’t imagine a man sitting in a barber chair and reading the sports section while having his toenails trimmed. Ridiculous.

“Where do I get a pedicure?” I asked my wife.

“A beauty shop, I suppose,” she said.

“Have you ever had one?”

“No, but I probably ought to.”

I had been to a beauty shop only once before in my life. I came out with a permanent wave. As luck would have it, I had to go into the hospital before the wave grew out, and I was sorely embarrassed.

I didn’t even know where a beauty shop was. Donnie Ware, the woman who drives me about, said she had seen one down the hill in the little mall at Avenue 43 and Figueroa Street. She said a sign in the window advertised pedicures for both men and women. (She notices things.)

It sounded like my kind of place. We drove down to the Packard Grill for lunch, but I stopped in at Lilly’s Beauty Salon. I asked if I could make an appointment for a pedicure at 2 o’clock and was told that the woman who did pedicures was out but would be back by 2. We had lunch and went back to the beauty salon.

The pedicurist was there. She was very businesslike about the pedicure. She told me to sit down and take my shoes and socks off--a procedure she helped me with--then had me put my bare feet in a small plastic tub of hot, soapy water.

She began preparing my feet, scrubbing them with a brush, applying mysterious oils and unguents, and drying them with a towel.

She used a large steel clipper to cut the nails. Snip. Snip. It obviously took strong, practiced hands. I thought it must be demeaning to wash someone else’s feet, but then I remembered that Jesus had done it, so it must be all right.

She worked fast. Now and then she made a remark and giggled. I couldn’t always understand her remarks, but the giggles were reassuring. She was happy in her work. When she finished cutting the nails, she polished them with some soothing liquid on a cotton ball, then oiled and massaged my feet and calves. It was absolutely sybaritic. For a moment I floated off in a dream.

Then she dried my feet and went to work on my hands. The bill was $14--$9 for the pedicure and $5 for the manicure. I felt so euphoric I tipped her $5 and promised to be back in a month or less.

She gave me her card. “Nails by Nancy.”

My mood remained elevated throughout the evening. When my wife got home from work, I took off my shoes and socks and showed her my toenails. She couldn’t believe it. “How did she manage to cut those things?”

I felt so sociable I wanted to go out in society and show my toenails. I called my French daughter-in-law and invited her out to dinner. (Her husband was working late and couldn’t come.) We ate at Roxxi. I wanted to take my shoes off and show her my toenails, but I realized that a restaurant was hardly the place for such an exhibition.”

“I got a pedicure today,” I told her over the wine. “Mr. Smith!” she exclaimed. “You didn’t!” She acted as if I had exposed a new and fascinating side of my character.

I wondered how many other gratifying experiences I haven’t yet dared to have in life.