Zach Nash

These Hobbit feet like their Hobbit homes. They are comfortable in their houses, protected from the elements, tucked in gently by two nice size ten cotton-blend sleeping bags and far away from the their distant cousins the hands, eyes and nose. The Hobbit feet have five children each and like their parents, they enjoy their privacy. Once or twice they have ventured out among the other relatives, but whispers of ugly and unkempt tortoises only reinforced their desire to stay safely inside their predictable world.

That's enough of the prose.

My feet have been called Hobbit-like, my toes compared to turtles and the soles get the same reaction as a toddler when tickled. Because of a 20/20 show and my gut, I firmly believe the drains at all pedicure places are overrun with bacteria due to lack of cleaning and, obviously, the type of service they offer. I have rolled my eyes more than once at Kathy as she left and again when she came back from getting "mani's" (pronounced man-ees) and "pedi's" (pronounced ped-ees) with her friends.

However, with all that being said, I put aside my feelings and went to hang out with my wife and get ped-ees after work today. Now some would say this isn't out of the norm, but it is for me. I do two things to my feet - wash them and cut the toenails. It has seemed to work after all these years. They get me where I need to be and keep the beat when listening to music. They seem happy with our routine.

Today though, I wasn't concerned about bacteria sneaking into a small cut. I was afraid for the ped-ee person that would be tending to my tough toes. What if I got all jumpy and kicked her in the face. I tend to loose control of all motor skills below the leg when even the slightest twinge of tickling occurs. I could see her nose bleeding as I walked in the door. "Sorry, but it tickled," just didn't seem like it would be something that would make her feel better. I didn't want to get kicked out of a man-ee store in the mall.

But it was for Kathy so I man-"eed" up. I had my camera, which is like a security blanket, and a new lens*, which worked in her favor when she pleaded that I go with her for ped-ees.

It was a bit weird. I felt like I needed to at least start some small talk with the lady that was going to try to undue years of walking in Birkenstocks. But my feet hit the water and there we went.

Halfway through a woman sitting beside me chimed in, "see, it isn't so bad." I added, "but it's isn't so good either."

There were times I fought the desire to Ralph Macchio her from my seat as she worked, especially when she decided to sand the soles. I didn't though, it was tough.

All-in-all it wasn't bad, it wasn't good. I am still worrying about bacteria and have a slight fear my toenails are going to turn black and need to be pulled off, but my feet do feel like a newborn baby. However, we laughed a lot, I didn't break any noses and, although it was uncomfortable, we had a good time.

And for some odd reason I'm posting pictures publicly of my feet.*

* After writing this blog post I found out I lost all of the pictures from the night. Disappointed, but I keep reminding myself I have soft feet.