And This Little Piggy Got A Haircut

I'm sure there are places here in South Florida that have dress codes, I just have never run across them. As badly as I dress, in the eternal shorts, sport shoes and polo shirt, I have never been denied access to any venue. In most cases I almost always find that I have over dressed for the occasion. I have seen folks show up at a funeral in shorts and flip flops, and tank tops are considered formal wear at the local diner. In fact I have seen people in flip flops almost everywhere you can think of, and no one has ever said, "Sorry, you cannot enter without real shoes." The problem is that most of these flip floppers have ugly, nasty feet, so you would think that I could appreciate a place where these disgusting feet could get a good pedicure.

On Thursday afternoon I took a walk over to the little strip mall here, with the intent of getting a haircut at the shop next to the Chinese restaurant. I had never been to this place before, but I figured I'd give it a try. Luckily they had an opening, and I knew the girl who would cut my hair from my old barber shop. What I didn't know is that this beauty/barber shop did pedicures. Directly across from the barber chair I was seated in, was a weird chair with a built in foot bath, and what you could call 'leg rests' connected to it. Seated in the chair was a fat, balding, gray haired old guy, and sitting on a stool in front of him was a middle aged Cuban man holding one of the old guy's fat feet, kneading it like a pile of bread dough. I don't like ugly feet, especially when they are attached to unattractive people, so I quickly averted my eyes and engaged Tatiana, the hair cutter, in conversation. All the while, in the background I could hear the sounds of the pedicurist manipulating, grinding, and buffing away at this guys feet. Halfway through my haircut, the pedicurist finished his job, and I relaxed a little. As Tatiana whirled me around in the chair I saw another fat old man come in and remove his athletic shoes and socks, climb up into the pedi-chair, and put his ashy old feet into the footbath. Thankfully I was whirled around in the chair again and didn't have to watch the rest, but I could hear each 'snap' of the nail clippers as the pedicurist moved on down the line of toes. I'm not sure, but at one point I think I felt something hit me in the back of the head.