Friday, August 1, 2008

Footloose

Ah yes, ladies and Gentlemen, summer is undoubtedly here. The lovely time of year when people are on vacation visiting the beach, the monuments, museums, and amusement parks, putting countless unforgiving miles on their feet. Never paying them any mind until the end of the day when they finally turn in for the night and realize that they've been mercilessly pummeling their feet by not only carrying their kids around for weeks, but also the extra pounds that have pounced on them since last Christmas when they quit smoking.

Of course I don't expect everyone to be worthy of my touch to have perfect feet, but for the love of humanity, (and your therapist) if your feet look like you could swoop down on a lake and catch a trout, or if they resemble concrete in any way, then it's probably time they met a pumice stone . . . . . . or an electrical sander.

The past month has been extremely busy, but as chance would have it my schedule has been gratuitously peppered with extra helpings of feet that could use some TLC. The last two weeks in particular have seen their fair share of travesties, but two nights ago I had a client that, hands down, had the most repulsive feet I have ever seen. Her heels had cracks in them that looked exactly like the ones you'd find in moistureless volcanic rock. If that weren't bad enough, the cracks were equally as black. These mammoth crevices swallowed massage cream like the dry barren earth of a desert would soak up the rain. I was convinced that her rough alligator feet had never seen a sock, touched a drop of moisture, and certainly never had an encounter with lotion.

As I continued to lather her death dealing razorblades of calloused flesh with cream, I did all I could to keep from throwing up. No amount of medicated heel cream or Shea butter would ever soften these Komodo Dragon feet. All I could do was try not to cut myself and move on as if nothing had happened, but something had indeed happened my friends, [cue extremely sad violin music] my love for massage died a little that day. Little pieces of my heart had become calloused and hard as stone, eventually becoming brittle and crumbling away as if they had witnessed Medusa's fatal glance.

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