This picture was taken around 2:00 pm on Saturday. After Jane and I had brunch at The Mission and then had fun San Diego pedicures. And a pitcher of Sierra Nevada.
Because post-pedicure, I still had time to play. And Jane and I considered our options. I'd already gone running. She was going to surf much later. And so it seemed to us that we might as well do what much of San Diego was doing.
So we headed to Cass Street Bar and Grill for beer. For old time's sake. It was kind of a perfect way to spend the day, actually.
And now I am back in wool coats and scarves and hats in cold, wintry, DC.
So I was thinking that having a lovely pedicure under my wool socks and boots would be tantamount to wearing sexy lingerie under conservative office clothing. You know it's there, and it makes you feel pretty, and it's all the more intriguing because nobody else knows.
In fact, it just made me bitter.
Because as I was trudging to work in the snow Wednesday morning I was thinking, "Goddamn it! A couple days ago my feet were naked! And I was warm, even in fun, skimpy outfits! And my toes look so pretty! And will this fucking winter in DC ever end?"
If one of our colleagues hadn't completely arbitrarily scheduled something for yesterday, something with clients that could not be rescheduled, my boss and I wouldn't have had to rush back. We could've stayed through the end of the conference and enjoyed a few extra hours of yummy San Diego sun and one last run. And flown Wednesday and missed the snow.
However, as it was, we rushed to leave Cali and then hurried in to begin a busy day. Which would be made busier due to the ineptitude of others. I knew this would be the case, and arrived irritated.
Basically, I was pre-annoyed.
It was definitely one of those consider-alternate-forms-of-employment days. And as you know, these are the days where I consider foot prostitution.
What a weird mantra: There's always foot prostitution! There's always foot prostitution!The truth is, I still haven't investigated what it might actually entail. I'm still speculating. So clearly not considering it seriously as an eminent option. But as I went about the irritation that comprised a good deal of my work time today, it certainly crossed my mind.
And then I remembered my toes!
Now, you'd think having cute little flowers painted on your toes would make you all the more likely to want to actually have your feet feature prominently into whatever it is you might be doing with them and your, um, foot prostitution client. You'd want them to be admired. I'm currently fascinated by them. Since Saturday, I have taken approximately 85 million pictures of my feet. I've probably never looked at my feet so much in my life.
But at the moment I am thinking foot prostitution is out. I may have to come up with some other random backup.
Why? Because look. I have the cutest little flower painted on my big toes. And in the center of the flower is an adorable little rhinestone. I don't care if they're tacky. I love the flowers and the sparkle. And they are just so very San Diego.
And would I really be willing to tickle some guy's anal sphincter with my cute, sparkly little flower?
I think not.