Pedicures. I could be way off base, Jason, but you don't strike me as a man who gets pampered on a regular basis. Well, my friend, if you have never spent 45 minutes in a vibrating chair while a mute Asian woman from some war-torn country lavishes your feet with love, you don't know what you're missing. I got my first pedicure about seven years ago so my naked toes wouldn't offend the guests at a friend's wedding. My feet were so happy (and sexy) afterward that ever since I have made it a point to schedule some time at the local nail salon every few months, even though Seattle only has sandal-worthy weather 4 days each year. In fact, just yesterday I hunkered down with three trashy magazines while a nail expert buffed and trimmed and massaged by calves until my feet were as soft as a baby's tushie and my nails were a seductive shade of red. It may be 60 degrees and raining outside but, darn it, my size tens deserve to look and feel fabulous, even if they're hidden from the world by a pair of athletic socks and some Pumas. So, the next time you've been standing around on set all day and your dogs are aching for some cheap relief, call me up and we can hit the nearest salon with outdated graphics hanging in the window and displays of fake nails on the wall that have been airbrushed with pictures of palm trees and cats. It may be the best twenty bucks you've ever spent, and if your macho guy friends tease you about your gorgeous toes just tell them your crazy best friend made you do it. Besides, they won't be laughing once they realize that all the ladies walking by are admiring your feet and turning up their noses at their nasty calloused ones.
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