But before I reveal to you the GIE (greatest invention ever), let me tell you a little background info about my anatomy.
Alright don't get excited.
On second thought....DO.
Because today....we're talking about my feet. To know them is to love them.
I've long been made fun of my feet either because they're big and wide or because my toes are short and stubby. Now we're not talking just a little bit different here. When I was born Bob told my mom I only had 5 toes, 2 big ones and 8 halves (Yes, I know that actually equals 6 but it took him 5 years to get out of the University of Delaware, cut him some slack.) Don't worry though, my 2 big toes can hold their own. I think it's safe to say 4 little ones are the same size as 1 big one. You may think to youself, "No big thang, no one notices feet anyways." But friends, we are approaching the summer season and when my baby toe (I know they're all "baby" but I mean the one on the end) sticks out the side of strappy sandals...PEOPLE NOTICE. Buying shoes has been a lifelong struggle. Again...strappy shoes...won't work. The last little one is not only shaped like a triangle but has a complete mind of its own and absolutely MUST stick out between the straps. Also...peep toes....or "peep TOE" as I call them because only the gargantuous big one sticks its head out the tip of the shoe....won't work.
Even smaller than my toes? My toe nails. I painted them for a few years there until no one ever noticed if they were painted or not so now I just paint Big Papa (as I sometimes call him) and leave the babies to fend for themselves.
But alas... back to the GIE. When I went to Costa Rica I may or may not have accepted the rastafarian lifestyle (there ya go sisters, I accept it). And in turn, I quit painting my toe nails SLASH gave up on my feet all together. The calluses on my feet eventually got bad enough that I would find myself practically Velcro-ed to the blankets in my sleep. Sexy, I know. I decided that something had to be done!
So I shower the other day. Big day. When I come back to my brothel cell there are 3 sorostitutes just kinda hanging out. As I clothe myself I say on a whim, "Anyone have a foot shaver?" And with that an angel ascended from the heavens in the form of Mollie and said, "Yea, actually." The next half hour was a fit of joy as I used some sort of razor on a stick to remove all the nasty nasty off my less than glamorous feet. And then...I painted them pink. Yes, even the halves, so that at least for a few days my feet can live the painted, callus-free life they always dreamed of. So alas, my dear friends, go get yourselves a foot shaver. It has brought me glee beyond my wildest dreams. And I consider it a gift to society.
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