I don't feel it is mandatory at the first sign of "open-toe shoe season" to run out with my 5 hammer toes to get a pedicure. In fact, last year I made it til the end of summer and boasted that my toes had never been painted. A hammer toe is a hammer toe (times 5) and no amount of Sally Hansen is going to make them beautiful. Do I really need to draw more attention to them and traumatize the nail technician? And have you ever thought about how strange it is to PAINT your nails with a flammable toxic chemical? Who started this trend, Cleopatra? Or was it the Dutch Boy's sister, Dutch Girl?
Imagine if someone created a beauty regiment that included super gluing a feather to the tip of your nose. Would you do it because all the other girls were going to the Feather Salon to have their "feathers done"? You know now that every time you get a mani/pedi, you are going to think of me and my feathered nose.
And speaking of feet. I absolutely HATE wearing high heels. Who are these women that can scrunch their feet into these pointy toed stilettos and say they are comfortable? You are all lying and you know it. If you don't have hammer toes by now, you better get ready for the public ridicule when you take those Manolo's off. And did I mention the bunions? Nothing oozes sexy like elephantitis of the foot. I am more a "slip-on cloggy" kind of shoe person. Call me a granola crunching tree hugger. I don't care.
Post script: Dr. Nancy Snyderman just validated me on The Today Show. Take a peek.
Many women refer to shopping as "Retail Therapy", like it is going to cure all their woes. I do not like to shop. Period. For me, shopping means I will definitely need therapy during or after my excursion.
Take yesterday's attempt at using one of my many accumulated gift cards. I left the N.Y. & Company store after trying on several items, none of which provided the promised emotional fulfillment. I thought I had put all my garments back on the rack and left the store. Much to my surprise, I exited the store and ....BEEP BEEP BEEP!! I looked down and there it was; the ill fitting cute jean Capri pants slung over my arm, ready to make their getaway home with me. I immediately rushed back into the store, red-faced and full of sorries. I think the sales girl didn't have me arrested because she took one look at my outfit and thought, "poor thing, she should've kept walking..."
I then met my husband in another store and he said he would not post bail for me if I had been arrested. I do think the prison uniform might be a step up for me so he might have done me a favor.
When I try clothes on it seems nothing fits "just right". Like the shoulders are cut too narrow (do I have Hulk shoulders?) or I'll think, "I'm 42, is this too hoochie looking for my age?" The Alfred Dunner collection is not quite my speed (yet) but I'm in that age group where you can tell some of us are trying too hard to look younger than our actual age. I really don't want to be one of those moms at the playground with the low rise jeans, fuzzy boots and a tramp stamp.
Being the What Not to Wear poster girl is not easy. I would be a very willing participant on the show with two conditions: Paper bag over my head to protect my identity and closed toed shoes.