On the 8th Day of Christmas

On the 8th day of Christmas, my true love sent to me ... a pedicure every Sunday afternoon for the rest of the year. (not by his own hand, natch - he does not need to see the bottoms of my feet).



Ever since visiting New York and being amazed by the plethora of nail salons - and shamed by the perfection of New York womens' toes - I have become obsessed with pedicures. They are amazing. I don't care where it happens - in one of those crack den looking places where immigrants are making their way in the world, or in day spa heaven. I don't care. Although this Helsinki Day Spa does look rather Amazing.


Ideally, there would also be an oxygen bar there, so that all remnants of my Saturday drinking are dissipated in several inhalations.