Pedicures Schmedicures

Back in late March, I tagged along with Old Dave to a Plastics Conference where he kept busy attending workshops with names like “Gasket Enhancements 2012!”

Since none of these workshops really piqued my interest, I used my time in the blazing Florida sun to people-watch at the pool, peer futilely into the unreadable screen of my i-Phone  and get a pedicure.

This last thing made me so happy I swore I would keep up appearances footwise for the next six months right up until boot season.

Instead I haven’t been to the pedicurists once,  and here we are more than halfway through the season of the Strappy-Sandal.

Maybe I should feel ashamed going around with the toenails I was born with but somehow I’m not. Ten perfect little ovals looked good enough to God on his drafting table; shouldn’t they be good enough for us?

Or maybe it’s my time of life and curmudgeonliness is at last descending on me. Here’s an adorable piece of cognitive dissonance for you, this lady’s face and what she is saying ha ha..

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