Recently I have come under an unwarranted attack from several individuals that caught wind of my trip to the nail salon to get a pedicure. These venomous individuals have responded as if the photographs I allowed to be taken of me while partaking in the heavenly exercise referred to as a pedicure was not a sign of my pride and lack of shame for having paid for the services. So during this latest series of attacks, I have held my head high so to show that while sticks and stones may break my bones, their words will never hurt me or alter the exquisite feel and look of my feet.
A journalist from the NY Times summed it up well:
I'M a whole lot more sinner than saint, but I know a religious experience when I have one, even if it's only once or twice a millennium. My first religious experience of the 21st century began on an otherwise unholy Wednesday afternoon when I arrived at John Allan's Club at 46 East 46th Street in Manhattan in executive pursuit of a pedicure.
Calling a pedicure a religious experience is only part of the equation. It is simultaneously a religious, spiritual, emotional, physical, sensual and sexual experience. When the pedicurist scrubbed the bottom of my feet I almost lost control. Then, when she decided to massage my calves, I knew that there was something in life that I had been searching for and not yet found. I found those elements that completed me while sitting next to two other men, who were also enjoying their first professional pedicures.
Am I metro?
I'd say no.
But do I enjoy some of the things that metrosexual men enjoy?
ABSOLUTELY. While I can't speak to just how frequent these trips will be, this certainly will become a regular activity for me. In fact, I can think of no better way to spend my Sunday afternoons when it's not football season.
Until I actually become a baller, I'll be looking forward to the next level on man pampering that is taking place in executive circles. Full spa treatments, here I come...