To complete my mind-quieting cycle, I went to the "fishicure" place tonight. Ever since Aunt M sent the article, I've been fascinated by the garra rufa a.k.a. Doctor Fish pedicure, available a scant 10 miles from my house. Deployment prevented my earlier exploration.
I don't remember when I've laughed so much... err, giggled. Placing my cleaned feet into the tank with 50 or so tiny silvery fish, I was immediately assailed with tiny whiskery nibbles, particularly where the toes meet the foot. They're absolutely hilarious, and as a tickle-sensitive person to begin, I was very close to hyperventilating from laughter. Tears slipping out of my eyes, I finally drew several deep breaths and continued giggling behind my hand like a geisha in training.
This sounds as though I were even slightly discreet, but having squeaked with burbling mirth a scant minute before, I was fooling no one. The ladies joyously giggled with me. Maybe there is something to that seratonin thing. The strangest part of the experience was that at about 15 minutes, the fish seemed bored and relented their frantic attack on my tootsies. Mom suggested on the phone later that maybe they were full.
I don't suppose one can tell a fish - even a Doctor Fish, which now that I think of it is probably akin to a Dr. Pepper or Mr. Pibb (side note: why are cinnamon-tinged colas honored with titles?) - that it missed a spot. but they did shirk a bit... or maybe 15 minutes is too little time to thoroughly assail my dogs. But the lovely salon lady took care of me for another full hour after the store closed. Perhaps she sensed my yearning to be pampered.
Ordinarily, I don't care for anyone touching my feet, but this lady seemed to care about what she was doing and thus about me. Suffice it to say that an apple red set of tootsies did not keep the doctor (fish) away, but it certainly lifted my spirits.
http://www.baltimoresun.com/features/bal-to.hs.fish15sep15,0,4024139.story
