I hate pedicures. I think it is painful, time consuming, overpriced, and ridiculous. I don’t like the mindless chatter, the awkward silence, or the outdated magazine pile. I don’t get the inevitable framed posters of long red nails holding a rose or a saxaphine held by mysteriously pink colored fingers. I never know what to say when I walk in and I never know what to tip. And finally, the ancestor worship station really gives me the creeps especially when I see a half of a pack of cigarettes lying beside a smoking incense. In short, I would rather have a pap smear than a pedicure. But, I will spend my last dollar on even a bad massage. So today, I treated myself to a one hour back massage. Because it had been a while, there were some knots to attend to. Other than that, it was an hour of bliss. This rather large seemingly of Russian decent masseuse treated my body like a pile of pizza dough. I left with a new awareness of how fast an hour could actually go by- naked toes and all.
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