Rhapsody and her eleven-year-old classmate Ashley
held up the tiny velvet cosmetic box. It was lime-green
with metallic sky- blue trim. The red tag attached to the blue
handle said, Ultimate Spa Pedicure.
“Can we?” they asked with big smiles.
I stopped cleaning the kitchen. The three of us sat
on my bathtub edge with our feet in warm water.
“What do we do?” Rhapsody asked.
We scrubbed our feet with Soothing Foot Scrub With
Walnut Shell Powder, “Ooh that feels good,” cooed Ashley.
We rinsed, “Oh my feet feel so soft,” said Rhapsody.
We scrubbed some more with the pumice brush.
Then we dried, creamed and polished.
Ashley sat on the toilet inspecting her right foot.
Her sole bottom was at her face. My forty-
three-year-old body was jealous of her dexterity.
She cheerily said, “I want to hug my feet!”
“I want to marry my feet!" Rhapsody exclaimed, "They are
attached to me ... I guess I already am, married to my feet.”