I bought a foot spa a couple of years ago. See I’ve garnered this odd affliction, where standing still for any amount of time kills my feet and leaves me utterly exhausted and fatigued for hours. Walking isn’t a problem. Standing kills me. Have been to two different doctors to no avail whatsoever.
One suggested a foot spa. Or maybe I thought it would be a good idea myself. Either way, it is now cast aside, like a bathroom version of a George Foreman grill, stuck in that useless little nook beside our shower. Any time I am seated on the throne, it looks at me with that big fake smile, begging employment. I don’t pay heed to such folly charms and go about my way without paying it any attention. I’m absolutely positive that as soon as I leave the smile fades and those hollow eyes fill with veruca salt tears.
I must send it on to Faces of the Earth, where it may at least find some friends.