All dressed up . . .

Midweek my beautiful friend and sister in law, Holly, and I went to pamper our piggies and bask in the aromatherapy-land of the spa. A perfect girlie treat. We sat and chatted while our tired winter feet (and calves) were rubbed, slathered with sweet-smelling oils, massaged again, and de-calloused (is that a word?). Yes, there was painting involved as well.

Side note: Before heading off to the spa I applied a quick fresh coat of
paint on my toes - of course. Tyler caught me red-toed before my socks went on.

Tyler- You're going for pedicures, aren't you?

Me- Mmm-hmm.

Tyler - So, why'd you just repaint your toenails?

Me- Because we're going for pedicures - duh. Like I'm going to plop my
unpainted toes on the side of the foot bath while my pedicurist secretly
mocks my horrid, bare nails.

Tyler- Seriously? What's the point of going then?

Me - If I were going for a facial I'd still put makeup on.

Tyler- Different.

Me- Mmm, not so much.

Tyler- So much. So, so, so much.

Anyway - once our toes were all beautiful and glossy Holly slid out of her pedicure flimsy-flops and into a cute little pair of regular flip-flops. Me? Oh, yeah, I wore boots - because that's what I do. All winter long I change from one boot to another - muck boots, snow boots, tall boots, short boots, riding boots, furry boots. . . red boots, blue boots, old boots, new boots. You get the point. Not wanting to ruin my lovely toe-do I wore the flimsies out to the car. THEN I wore them into the feed-store. Why, you ask. I don't know. Because it's small store, because I had to stop on the way home, because I couldn't risk smudged paint! And I almost got away with it too. Alas, I found myself bare-footed with the tops of my flops around my ankles on my way to the cash register. I re-positioned the flimsies beneath my feet, tried to hold on to the straps with my toes, and shuffled my way up to pay. (Shuffling didn't work in the parking lot, btw.) I am the poster-child for absurdity.

BUT - my pedicure survived in tact . . . and my toes, I know. I told you they were more like fingers. I spent a good part of my childhood sweating in my Nikes because I was scared to unleash these babies on the world. Don't be sad. I'm over it now.

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I just wish I could figure out what to do with all my bright pink-ness in this ever-so-lovely spring snowstorm we're having today. Yoga?