friends | Jenna's Everything Blog

For my birthday a couple weeks ago, my friend Carrie took me to Arbre Nail Spa to get my first pedicure ever.

I know . . . 28 years old and not a single pedicure. I’ve also never had a manicure–not even for my wedding–I know some of you are shivering in horror. Don’t try to hide it.

It was BYOB–Bring Your Own Birthdaygirl. So Carrie brought me! Thanks Carrie.

Oh, and you can also bring some of this stuff:

White, girly, delicious wine.

In the spirit of documenting the experience, I started with a picture of my feet pre-pedicure.

I know that some people out there have a thing about feet. They don’t like ’em. They don’t like to look at ’em. They get uneasy when people start taking off their footwear. If that’s you: you certainly do not want to keep scrolling down. Because it’s all about the feet today.

My callouses were a little out of control, as you can see in this unflattering close up.

That’s one uuuugly sole right there.

We carefully chose our colors. Here’s the old red color on Carrie’s toes:

Yes, I think this new shade will look fab, girlfriend.

After waiting for two seats to free up next to each other, Carrie and I adjourned to the little foot-soaking station. The chairs vibrated and massaged you with little rollers. There’s even a personal remote control for your chair! Man, the things I’ve been missing.

Soaking, scrubbing, buffing, lotioning–it all felt great. I even got a calf massage–it was fierce, painful, and wonderful all at once.

Carrie looked like she was in severe pain for about half of her pedicure. Then it turned out that she’s just severely ticklish.

Conclusion: I loved it. However, I can’t get addicted to it because it costs something known as ‘money,’ ‘green ones,’ or ‘hard cash.’

The results were lovely, though. My feet have never been more beautiful. Of course, you can’t tell because this picture turned out dark and weird-looking.

No, I didn’t paint my toenails black. It’s a deep, gorgeous red. But the lighting at the back of the spa was all wrong.

Callouses = no longer terrifying.

I’m thinking once per year should be enough to keep me feeling appropriately decadent.

Today it’s time for some snuggly pictures of my friend Carrie and Gus, Erica’s cat.

You would never guess it, but in Gus’s infancy he was a holy terror. For the first year of his life, every time I visited Erica I lived in fear of his almost demonic aggression. Having grown up with 3 cats, Erica was crushed that her steady cache of cat-training and disciplinary techniques were simply not working on this fiendish kitty.

There were tears, there were scratches. Just look at this picture from his youth–he’s flashing those manic crazy-eyes. They were a staple in his violent, furry little face.

Once, when I scooted Gus off the dining room table (where he knew he wasn’t allowed to be), he ran at me teeth and claws flailing, green eyes burning.

I’d never had a cat rush at me in a no-holds-barred vengeful fury, and I will never forget that moment. Thankfully, he came to a stop a couple inches from my frozen and shocked self, turned around, and ran in the other direction. It was a close call, and I’ll never know what exactly saved me from being eviscerated by an angry kitten.