Yesterday morning, I asked The Pony if he would put a sock on my foot. I hurt my knee last week, and have been hobbling around with a cane in the Mansion. I drag my leg along at work. One of the pupils advised me, "You might want to see a doctor about that." They're selfless, my pupils. Always have my best interests at heart.
So The Pony put my sock on while I was laid back in the La-Z-Boy. "You know, I did this for you plenty of times."
"I know. I don't mind. I feel bad for you."
"It's just that bending that knee really hurts, and I have to get through The Devil's Playground, and then stand in the kitchen fixing Super Bowl snacks for your dad, and I don't want to hear that grindy sound when I bend it."
"There you go, Mumsy. How's this?" The Pony squeezed my foot around the instep. It was surprisingly relaxing.
"That's great. You're really good at that."
"I know. Remember third grade?"
"Yes! I couldn't believe it! We were talking along, right here in the living room, and you were telling me about something that went on in class, some lesson. And when I asked you what you said, you told me, 'Nothing. I was under Mrs. Cooper's desk.' Which made me holler, 'Under her desk? WHAT were you doing under her desk?' And you said..."
"Massaging her feet!"
"Yeah! And then I really had a fit. 'Massaging her feet? Why would you do that? And why would you be under her desk?' And you told me..."
"Because she asked me to, and that's where she was sitting."
"Then I said, 'Do you mean she takes off her shoes while she's teaching?' Remember what you told me?"
"No. There are big parts of my childhood that I don't remember."
"You didn't know the word for sandals. You said, 'No. She wears those strappy shoes. Where her toes stick out. So I can massage her feet with her shoes on.' I was HORRIFIED! You know how I hate feet! And the thought of you sitting under a teacher's desk, with your hands all over her feet...I made you promise to stop doing that!"
"Yeah."
"I wish I didn't remember it."
4 comments:
Too bad I don't know your email address. If I did, I'd spend hours on the internet, finding pictures of feet to send to you. Feet with blisters. Feet with hammertoes. Feet jammed up with toe jam. Feet with those horny hoof-like nails that old men get, all yellowed and snaggly.
Aaah. Just the thought makes me smile.
The Pony sounds handy (footy?) to have around!!
Funny. I can't believe a teacher would ask a child to massage her feet! You would think she would be afraid the parents would have her fired. But the question I would have asked my child is "Why are you not massaging MY feet??" My Adrienne gives the best massages. Sometimes we sit facing each other on the couch and rub each others feet. She still likes to put her head in my lap and say, "Mommy, play with my hair and tickle my forehead." She is 37. My baby.
Sioux,
Well...I'll never give it to you now! I could hardly finish reading that, what with tears streaming from my eyes due to the retching.
*****
fishducky,
Indeed he is, when the feet are not involved.
*****
Kathy,
I never even KNEW The Pony had a talent for massaging feet back then. Only this morning, I told him, "You ought to abandon that pipe dream of becoming a chemical engineer, and go to work at a Korean nail salon massaging feet." Hopefully, Frank Costanza won't walk in.
I always told my boys that when they were older, one would be pushing me through the casino, pulling my oxygen tank, and the other would be clipping my toenails. Which boy got which task varied, depending on who was in the doghouse that day.
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