My dirty little secret..

Yes, it's true.  I have a secret.  No, I don't have a love child, I'm not in the witness protection program and I'm not growing any illegal plants in my closet.  My secret is known to only a select few.  My family, best friends and........the unfortunate technicians who have to deal with my feet.   Yes, my feet.  On the surface they appear to be perfectly happy, normal feet. At at a closer glance specifically the bottom of my feet,  you see the ugly truth.  My feet are cracked, calloused, and peeling.  I do shower, wash my feet, and occasionally use Bath and Body Works heavy duty lotion.   I even have regular pedicures.  I also never, ever, wear closed toe shoes.  I am always in flip flops sandals or bare feet.   I know I control the fate of my feet.  I am aware that if I wore tennis shoes, or put lotion on my gnarly toes and then socks before bed, they would be smooth, silky, beautiful specimens.  I must have inherited a need for my feet to feel free!  On the upside, I could probably win a contest for walking across hot coals.  I must admit when I go to get a pedicure I enter with trepidation.  I am convinced that all of the lovely petite foreign techs gather in the back room and draw straws to see who has to work on "the beasts".  Once the unlucky lady approaches me, clad in rubber gloves,  I reluctantly remove my flip flops and place them in the basin of hot water.  Then the nightmare begins.  She removes my polish trims my apparently lovely toes and proceeds to lift up my feet.  The look of disgust is undeniable.  She asks if I want callous remover.  Callous remover?  I try to act surprised at the condition of my neglected pigs.  She shakes her head and goes to work.  As she starts to scrape, inevitably wiping her brow of sweat, she begins to see this as a mission.  Lips begin to change from a disappointed purse to a determined tight lip.  She begins to give me advise about my feet.  Her tone is caring with a hint of disapproval for my lack of foot care.  She advises me to put on lotion and wear socks.  I promise her I will, she discretely hands my a scrubby pumice-like pad.  I swear I will use it every day, knowing I wont.  I leave satisfied with my semi softened perfectly painted toes.  She nods, smiles thinking she has converted me from a barefooted hillbilly, into a pedicured princess.  She hasn't.  I will continue to bare my feet, walking across gravel, never putting on lotion.  And so the cycle continues, I will live with this dirty little secret, probably forever.