It was a few days before my wedding. Since we were basically paying for the wedding ourselves, we had scrimped and pinched pennies in order to have a memorable experience. I had to decide what was of utmost importance and what I could live without. Above all, I decided, we must have a cake...a big cake with plenty for everyone. One thing I sacrificed for this though was a mani/pedi. I was a little distressed over this, mostly because my feet are basically hooves and I knew I'd be wearing strappy sandals with my dress and flip flops on the cruise. It isn't exactly a brides dream to crawl into bed on her wedding night and have her husband cry actual tears when her feet leave abrasions and bruises on his skin.
So a few days before the ceremony I was in Old Time Pottery (think Michaels or Hobby Lobby). I was wandering the floral aisle when I ran into a gentleman who asked me if I was interested in a free pedicure. At first I thought maybe he had seen my flip flop clad centaur feet and taken pity on me, but he went on to say that he worked for a salon down the street that had just opened and they were giving free manicures and pedicures to promote themselves. "Sweet!!!!!" I thought. After I told him that'd be awesome, he bent down to look more closely, asking permission to feel the skin on my feet. I said fine and waited to hear him tell me they didn't have a sander big enough to make my feet soft. Little did I know though that this man would never have said anything negative about feet. In fact, he liked mine so much he couldn't keep his hands off them. He even massaged them and by the look on his face I'd say he was really enjoying it too. It only took a moment for the chill to run down my spine. I pulled my foot away, and being a serial foot molester he knew I was on to him. He turned tail and ran out the front door.
I drove home imagining all the things I could have done to the little perv. I pictured myself running after him and flying Jackie Chan style through the air before landing the perfect karate chop you know where. On future trips to Old Time Pottery I made sure I wore flip flops in hopes of encountering him again so I could exact my revenge. In the end though, I just had to bathe my feet in Lysol and laugh about the patheticness of the story with my friends. Not long after I heard about an old lady who awoke to find a man in her room touching her feet. I think she ran him off with a broom. You go girl!