Tuesday evening, I sat on the short couch, ripping off my velcro leg wraps, and peeling off the support stockings that trap my feet 23 hours a day. Farmer H was kicked back in the recliner in only tighty-whities, having just returned from his own shower. He rotated his ankles, admiring his feet. I hate feet, but Farmer H has amazingly tiny soft white feet.
"I got my monthly pedicure today."
He said as I was dealing with my snaggle-y toenails that grow like horse hooves, with the right big toenail still trying to fall off.
"That's nice. I'm happy just to let my feet breathe for an hour a day when I have a shower."
"I noticed when I went in the shop that their sign was dangling. While I was in the chair, I heard sirens. Then the fire marshal came in, and said, 'We can't let you stay open with this sign hanging. It could fall and hurt someone. It's a hazard. So you'll have to close until it's fixed.'"
"Huh. I hope they get it done in time for your next appointment."
"When I come back through later in the day, I seen that the sign was fixed. So they didn't waste no time. They had that area under it blocked off before, so people couldn't walk under it. But I can understand why they got shut down."
Farmer H leads a charmed life. The Universe is not going to allow him to miss a monthly pedicure.
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