Polished Piggies

This little piggy went to market,
and this little piggy stayed home.
This little piggy had roast beef,
and this little piggy had none.
This little piggy went wee-wee-wee-wee.....

All the way to get a pedicure for her damn self.

Now, some of you know that I have some beef with a certain Quincy establishment named the Sly Fox, which all people everywhere should boycott always. Being one of the earlier encounters I had with local businesses, it left me skeptical of supporting others nearby. Slowly, the Donut King and Copeland Pizza have become favorites of ours not only because they are walk-able, but also because they are actually delicious and the donuts are actually enormous and actually made on sight. Yes, actually.

Nonetheless, skepticism hath stopped me from trying the PT Nails and Spa, which is equally close to us as the beloved donut and pizza shops. Last night I finally caved; I really needed (wanted) a pedicure. This might get a little gross, but I'm quite sure that dirt from Kenya was still embedded in my feet. Here, have a look for yourself:

Wow, and now we're here. Photos of my feet for the world to see. Okay, moving on.

Before you go thinking that I was particularly unclean, I will hastily correct that thought. Regardless of frequency/intensity of showers, we all had perma-dirt up to mid calf/knee region. (And now I really miss the perma-dirt; it makes me look more tan!)

Anyway, I walked in while she was finishing a manicure on a woman who also walked there and was clearly a regular. They were chatting about their families, the neighbors, what color nails she had last week and what she was planning for next week. I thought, "This is a good sign." Her husband quickly filled the tub, probably spying that perma-dirt, and told me that she would be right over. Attentive customer service - another good sign.

Finally, what happened next was lovely and unprecedented in my pedicure experience, until then. She spent at least 45 minutes scrubbing and cleaning and trimming and exfoliating and moisturizing and finally polishing my piggies and the legs attached to them. She didn't openly gasp when first seeing my feet, carried a good conversation, but not too much - all good signs. Lastly, she graciously accepted Italian food that a woman in the neighborhood brought for her son, who apparently loved Italian food that his mother (she, the pedicurist and shop owner) did not make.

Again, have a look at the finished product for yourself:

Admittedly, the quality of this picture isn't as good as the first two. It's pretty, trust me. Or don't... 

And come get a pedicure for your damn self.