Lonely Author: My First Pedicure

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“You never had a pedicure?” Stunned, my wife and daughter stared at me.

Maybe the Chimp needed to get in touch with his feminine side.

Coming home from my doctor’s appointment, I journeyed into a beauty salon.

To ignore the strange looks from the women I picked up a magazine.  Apparently, Caitlyn Jenner doesn’t feel like a woman anymore.

A tiny Asian woman led me to chair that stood above a tub. Removing my sneakers, socks, and rolling up my jeans, I sank my feet into the warm water.

I could get used to this.

I started clever salon conversation. “Are you excited about the new season of ‘The Voice?’”

The thin woman next to me made awful sounds with her gum as if she learned to chew by watching cattle grazing.

Forget the conversation.

This Chimp knows there’s no greater turn off than a man with crusty nails. So, there wasn’t much for the old lady to do there.

The old lady started rubbing some grating apparatus against my heel. When she moved to the bridge of my foot….

Quickly withdrawing, I yelled, and leapt out of my seat.

The entire salon turned to look at me.

“I’m ticklish.”

Returning my hoof to the old lady, I ignored a room full of shaking heads and rolling eyes.

Biting my lip, she continued on that sweet spot.

At this moment I knew men are the weaker sex; child birth, monthly cramps, pedicures, raising immature husbands.

Women are built to stand excruciating torture.

No wonder why I couldn’t keep a woman. I submitted them to this cruel torture.

Minutes later she massaged my foot with a fragrant cream.  It actually made me a little drowsy.

Two quick taps on my foot.

Some relaxing Oriental massage trick.

Two more taps.

A salon full of women yelled in unison, “She wants the other foot.”

How humiliating.

She painted my toe nails with a clear enamel although a cream colored French manicure may have gone well with my Earth tone eyes.

An hour later, I entered my apartment.

Leaving my shoes and socks on the welcome mat, I stood before my wife and daughter. Then, I truly got in touch with my feminine side.

No one noticed my lovely pedals.

I truly knew how it felt to be a woman; an unappreciated flower.

Alas, getting in touch with my feminine side wasn’t what I thought it would be.

Perhaps, next time I want to get in touch with my feminine side I could get a Brazilian Wax.

I THINK NOT.