The other night, after I detached myself from the computer downstairs, Jeff and I retired to the bedroom. We were lying in bed, recounting funny Lily, Ben and Evan stories from the day. I was trying to manipulate a foot rub out of him by pathetically caressing his leg with my toes. My feet were still sore from the three hour stint in heels and I was desperate. Jeff blatantly ignored my efforts. Finally, I resorted to begging. Can you please just rub me? Puh-leeeease, Jeff?
Ugh. I am not rubbing your feet, he responded disdainfully.
Why not, I whined? You think my feet are cute. And they really hurt. Pretty please?
Your feet used to be cute, he answered. They used to be, um…uh…painted.
So, imagine them red, I retorted.
Well, he continued, they used to be cuter. Just, um… different… uh, just…
YOUNGER.
What? He defensively asked, after I shot him a look cluing him in that he’d said something really, really wrong. You’re, like, thirteen years older than when we met, he continued. Of course your feet look older. Do you think your mother’s feet are “cute?” As you get older your feet become less cute. That’s life. You know?
No, Jeffrey, I do not know.
He could have said anything: Your feet are dry, Jill. They’re veiny. They’re rough. They’re scaley. Fat, even. But old? OLD??? They are none of those things, for the record. They could certainly benefit from a good foot rub with some moisturizing lotion, but are fine, and a mere thirty one years young.
So that’s when I killed him.
The End.
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I willing do my wife’s feet because:
1. I know how good it feels for me when I get mine done and I want a little reciprocity (and MY feet are UGLY))
2. I know it feels good for her. Always good for men to keep a few credits in the bank.
3. I’m a little bit cheap and I balk at what she pays for Pedi’s. “Jeez for half that, I’ll do your feet.” :-)
To this end, we keep bottles of the mint foot lotion handy. Keeping one partner happy usually makes the other partner happy too. And when one is cranky, that’s never good for the other.
I actually laughed out loud at the end, with the “That’s when I killed him.” comment. Priceless.
What is it about men that they all come with a built-in need to say the absolute WRONG thing at the wrong time?
Such as the other day, when I was getting dressed, and stepped in front of the mirror in my bathroom, about to put my makeup on, when I noticed that the shirt I was wearing – that I hadn’t worn since before I had Son #2 – was clinging in a slightly less flattering fashion than it used to. I commented to my husband that I had loved that shirt, but it obviously did not love me anymore. His response? “No, it loves you, it just doesn’t seem to like your love-handles.”
Umm… what? My WHAT?
He’s lucky he works graveyard, or he would have had a long, cold night on the couch.
Reading through your posts this morning, I have done a lot of “aw”ing and Laughing. Well done.
OMG I can’t believe he said that. My dh is exactly one year (and ten days!) younger than me so he occasionally makes the same BIG FAT NONO. Like the other day I noticed a grey hair (I’m 29, be thirty in a January) and I was like “how long have these been here?” and he was like “A while…y?” and I’m all “Well WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ,ME?!?!” and he said, “Well, that’s what happens when you get…um…old“.
Yes, yes, he does indeed fry up nice n crispy.
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I agree! If they’re dry, rough, and scaly, then they need a foot rub! Duh! My feet are 37 years old, and my 32 year old boyfriend gives me foot rubs all the time, so if he can survive the experience, so can your husband!
“So that’s when I killed him.” = PRICELESS!
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