The things this woman was doing to my feet were making my head tingle. It was that good. As a certified girly girl with a degree in being pampered, I’ve had my share of pedicures and massages and have been on the receiving end of all things beauty and therapy. Yet this-THIS was fate. The warm wet towel she smoothed over my feet existed in the same enchanted frequency of hot tubs, steam rooms, and tamales. Her fingers pressed and rubbed every reflexology and meridian point through this warm towel, shooting literal energy up through me and coaxing me into a state of euphoria and release.
Thirty minutes later when I emerged with five + five bubblegum pink toes, all was right with the world from my perch.
“Do you need a pumice stone to take home? Your heels were something crazy.” She asked as I counted the Benjamins in her direction.
“I have one,” I said. “I have never used it.”
“Every night in the shower, do this.” At the counter she then preceded to pantomime a whole routine involving a real pumice stone and imaginary lotion.
The simplest things are the most important.