Elesean Fields

I discovered the wonders of the Pedi-Egg over the weekend, and have been extolling the virtues ever since.  I told Irene, earlier, that I'd gotten over zealous with mine, and that my heels are tender.

"I LOVE the pedi egg!  It takes off the skin like nothing I’ve ever used," She enthused.  "Which is kind of scary.  I need a pedi, though.  It’s been since September."

"That thing is brutal!" I agreed.  "My heels are softer than The Boy's.  I was grossed out by the parmesan cheese looking remains, though.  And the sheer amount."

"Yes. And the leakage.  I have to spread a towel now.  The commercial says it is neat, but they lie, precious!  They lie!!"

"They do lie.  Yes.  I discovered this immediately.  Parmesan toe cheese all over the floor."  For that is what the remains resemble, Ladies.  Grated parmesan.  And it comes away moist and fluffy.  Moist being the key to the gross factor.

Irene thought so too.  She said, "It was disgusting.  I was half overjoyed that my stanky feet were soft and smooth, and half revolted that I was going to have to let my skin dry out so I could vacuum it up. See, now that I know proper containment procedures (laying a HUGE towel down, making sure there’s no fans on or open windows where stray breeze could spread my foot cheese, and making sure the cats are not there to roll around in it) I’m very pleased with it, even if their marketing people LIE. "

So take it from us:  Buy a pedi-egg, no matter how much SNL makes fun of women who use them.  Be soft!

And, if you're really pissed at someone, save your foot parm and offer it to them on top of a salad or bowl of pasta.  Sweetly.  With a smile.  After all, revenge is a dish better served with a fresh heap of foot shavings.