Oh, You Deli-Cut Flower!

So you’re strutting sexily down Seventh Avenue in your super-snappy pointy-toed boots. The ones that InStyle told you J. Lo and Gwynnie wear. And you’re feeling cute. Really cute. And sure, they’re impeding the natural circulation to your freshly pedicured toes and quite possibly causing numbness in your calves and all, but hey … what’s the diff. They look cool, you look hot, and that’s all that matters. There are only a few hours left, anyway, until you get home and release your feet from the boots, your socks … and finally the plastic wrap encasing your toes.
Yes, you’ll do all this matter-of-factly. Quite clinically. With the same vapid non-expression you presented when the smiling pedicurist, in her quest to ensure that her handiwork (footiwork?) didn’t smear, wrapped your toes in that plastic. Not once will your lips curl upward, in a faint approximation of a smile, at the mere notion. Not once will people think you’re a hyena when you realize your feet resemble leftovers from a deli party-platter. And not once will you experience or express some form of amusement anywhere along that continuum.
My lips, however, will curl upward in an actual smile when you’re standing in the salon getting wrapped, as I fantasize that you are hit by a truck just moments after you leave. I will laugh as I see you being rushed to St. Vincent’s, where somehow they will surely lay eyes on your fresh, new Cosabella thong (thank goodness you listened to mom!). People will think I’m a hyena as I imagine that the entire emergency room staff can’t stop you from bleeding from the ears because they’re all too busy slapping your feet (which had, at some point during the day, turned into well-preserved lean corned beef) onto freshly-sliced caraway-seed rye with a little homemade cole slaw, Russian dressing, and a pickle.