Sandal Season

I have a new, L.A. induced obsession-- the state of my feet. I have never in my life had a manicure or pedicure, a confession that elicits shocked disbelief from my acquaintances here.

Given that I swim, hike, run, kickbox, dance ballet, etc., I had pretty much accepted that my feet would always look battered. In L.A., however, a calloused bunyon is an object of such repulsion that I am forced to seek treatment. I am still holding out on a pedicure but have been lotioning away every night to little effect. I am also treating two recently blackened toenails in a vain race against the clock to sandal season. I really don't like the painted toenail look though; it reminds me of a poodle.

I am already starting to resent the maintenance requirements in L.A. and am beginning to dislike the artificially perfect eyebrow look so popular here. And I have still held out on the self-tanner! A few months ago a friend of mine held a dinner table in rapt attention as she described the process of laser hair removal of her private area.

After the cocktail party this afternoon I tooled around the Venice boardwalk and was happy to realize once again that there are hordes of non-perfect-looking people (well, in this case, freaks) in this city.