Yesterday Paul and I got pedicures. It was not Paul's first... it was his second. Paul is not Metro sexual. He's all man. A real man. He joins more and more males getting nail treatments, hands and feet. I hold these men in high regard for their obvious healthy sense of self. They ignore those who say it's a sissy, girlie thing to do, this lovely ritual that women discovered years ago. One website, in fact, puts the practice at 4,000 years old.
From Wikipedia:
The word pedicure comes from the Latin words pedis, which means of the foot, and cura, which means care. It also means the care of the feet and toenails. A pedicure can help prevent nail diseases and nail disorders. Pedicures are not just limited to nails; usually dead skin cells on the bottom of feet are rubbed off using a rough stone called a pumice stone. Additionally, leg care below the knee became a common and now expected service included in pedicures.
See, it's good for you. It can prevent disease. It's also fun to be pampered and even more fun to do it with your partner. Sexy even. Side-by-side soaking our dirty feet in hot water, surrendering to the deep rubbing of the massage chair... (hee,hee. sorry kids).
My father, too, has gotten a pedicure in recent years. He loved it. No one can say he's not a real man. He fought in WWII with distinction, he was inducted into his college Sports Hall of Fame after lettering in FOUR sports, he produced 5 sons, he can fix anything that breaks and he has built tons and tons of stuff with his own hands. No one would ever mistake him for a sissy. Not Frank Lochridge.
And not Paul Stickney.
Mary
P.S. Above is photo of my foot taken a few months ago. It's not Paul's. He doesn't get polish. I guess you might say real men don't get toe polish, but I could be dissuaded on that...
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