Fair warning: You men readers may want to just skip over this post…
The last “foreign” pedicure I received was in Mexico. They lay you back on a massage bed and put a bowl of rose water (replete with floating petals) on a stool to soak your tootsies. That one included the spa treatment of reflexology, the most amazing looonnnggg massage, along with a good job of scrubbing, cutting, filing, and painting. Nothing too unusual. But oh so nice for, like, 10 bucks!
Since we’ve been gone a month, it was time for a pedicure, German-style. So I sent Theo over to the Fuss Pfelge to make an appointment for me (did I mention how dependent I am on his German???) Our friend had told us that here it was considered kind of a ‘medical treatment.’ Oh boy!
So I show up speaking my very little German, fully prepared to use my hands more than my mouth to communicate. The place is sterile—white walls, laminate floors, white uniform, white chair, white shelving, white table (luckily no hair net or scrubs!!!). First she soaks my feet in a tub of puce-colored water. Next to my white reclining chair that looks like it belongs in a dentist’s office, are THE TOOLS. Layed out like a well-planned disection, waiting for their next victim.
And so she puts on her mask, swings over the huge lit magnifying lamp and takes to my always-barefoot soles with maniacal precision. She takes turns between shaving off skin with her scalpel and using the wet Dremel tool to smooth them off. She shamed me for not using cream…EVERY DAY! I know she’s right.
Then she took the dental tools and picked and scraped until I was perfect. Finally the application of the color and I was done. Whew! And all of this for €23 for Frau Olga to take such great care of my precious hooves!