FEET

      I have always been a big walker.  And fast.  Most people who walk with me tell me to slow down.  But I’ve been blessed with good feet and strong legs and I learn lots more about the world from trails, paths and sidewalks than I do by riding in a car.

        A few years ago, however, my faithful feet betrayed me by developing an ingrown toenail.  As soon as it began to bother me, I headed for the podiatry department of my HMO.  After a copayment of $15, I looked for a seat in the windowless waiting room.  Looking around, I could tell that every one of my companions had some sort of orthopedic ailment.  One was in a wheelchair, another with braces on both legs.  One woman was so obese I knew she couldn’t trim her own toenails.  Among them, I felt quite out of place.  The reading material on the tables was about as interesting as out of date catalogs for orthopedic appliances.  The podiatrist, when it was my turn, was friendly and capable and made my toe feel a lot better, but I left knowing this was a place I didn’t want to spend a lot of time.

        Then one day as I walked down Piedmont Avenue, I noticed a nail salon.  Big windows overlooked the street.  Big comfy massage chairs lined one wall.  Pedicures, the sign in the window said.  $20.  Women with satisfied expressions, sitting in the comfortable looking chairs, were getting their toes and fingers tended to and beautified.

        I walked in.  “Do I need an appointment?” I asked.  “No,” one of the attendants smiled.  “Choose a color.  You can sit here,” and she pointed to one of the big chairs.  By the time I chose a bottle of polish from the myriad of colors, she had filled the well at the foot of the chair with warm water.  As I sat down, I asked the manicurist if she could work on my toe, pointing out the troublesome one.  “Ah, yea, ingrown,” she said, nodding her head.  I pulled my pantslegs up to my knees, sat in the chair and stuck my feet into the water, immediately entering a state of near bliss as my feet were washed, massaged, lotioned, then polish applied to the nails.  When she was finished with my feet, she massaged my legs, leaving me to bask, totally relaxed, as I received a back massage from the chair.

        “Could I have something to read?” I asked and one of the workers brought me a movie magazine, an issue of PEOPLE and one of TRAVEL & LEISURE.  What more could I want?  I could enter another world as I waited for my polish to dry.

        I never go to the podiatrist any more.  The manicurists keep my ingrown toenail from ingrowing, my feet feel great again, and they look beautiful, as well.  Plus I get to feel like a pampered lady for half an hour.  Worth every penny of the extra $5.