The other day, the Princess and I were in Sephora, that den of temptation. My darling girl had to get something before she went back to college, and we were in the line, when I saw…it. The Thing That Would Change My Life.
Baby Soft Foot Peel.
Now, I’d seen Baby Feet before, and looked at pictures online, but the packaging was not in English, and given the hideous pictures of what seemed to be foot-based leprosy, I was hesitant.
Now, however, the instructions were in English. I bought two packages, one for me, and one for…me. Or possibly my friend Shaunee. The Princess recoiled when I offered her one, but did say she wanted daily updates on the peeling process.
Here’s how it works. You put on these wet plastic booties. You sit for an hour or so. You take off the booties, rinse your feet, and wait.
What followed were the most disgusting and deeply satisfying four days of my life.
Day One showed nothing.
Day Two, I thought I stepped on some paper or a tissue…,but no. It was a flap of my skin. Oooh. I looked at the sole of my foot and nearly wept with joy. If you’re the type of person who enjoys, say, peeling sunburn, as I am, this product is for you. Long, thin strands of dead skin, slipping easily off my leathery hoof, revealing normal, human skin below. It was so much fun, people!
Immediately, I sent a photo to my sister, mother, daughter and best friend. My mom dry-heaved; my sister wept; my daughter texted, “OMG, I’m so excited!”; and my best friend oohed and ahhed. However, there was a problem. As you might know, I’m in a knee brace and on crutches. Mobility is not my thing. So, I sat on the porch and peeled away. “What are you doing?” McIrish asked as a piece of his beloved floated past on the gentle breeze.
“I’m sending out Kristan seeds into the world,” I said dreamily. “Little Kristan trees will grow everywhere, and you’ll never be without me.”
“Can’t you do that somewhere else?” asked he.
“No. Also, I can’t reach my left foot, so…” I held up my injured extremity. “Honey? Would you peel me?”
Ah, the empty nest! “If only Dearest was home, he could help,” I said, settling back into my chair as my husband did what can only be termed “marital duty.” Such a beautiful day! Such a blissful feeling, that skin being removed! “Oh, that felt like a big one,” I said, and my sainted husband held it up for me to observe before letting the wind take it.
NOT chewing dead skin off the soles of my feet (unfortunately)
I had to wear socks for the next couple days so as not to have the dogs eating bits and pieces of me. My friends and female relatives received daily photos of the bottom of my feet. I sent my sister a card with some skin samples taped to it; my niece reported that she screamed. I’m so proud.
The peeling is over, alas, and yes, my feet are smoother than they have been since I was a chubby little tot. I’ve allowed McIrish to feel my feet. “Aren’t they smooth? Aren’t they nice?” I ask. He gives me a look and sighs.
I think I’ll save the second package for Thanksgiving, when the kids will be home so we can all share in the fun.
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