I like new ideas. These days what you know today is old news tomorrow. Someone somewhere dreams up invaluable and imaginative ways of making money. Time and again I’ve been bamboozled into parting with my hard-earned cash on near worthless product(s). When the darn thing breaks or falls apart, I don’t beat myself up about it because the investment is never large to cause true grief. Life is supposed to be an adventure. No? Sure it is.
Last minute Christmas shopping found me at Walmart in the Pet Department. Lady Gaga doesn’t know or care about Santa, but she would get a treat anyway. I bought her a cart load of Iams canned chicken, beef, and lamb paté. Her favourites. She only gets on heaping teaspoonful in the morning with a quarter cup of dry Iams and at night she has dry cat food only. One can lasts five days: five spoons.
On my way back to pay for all the goodies in my basket, I passed a sock display. Wild and jazzy colours; soft and fuzzy yarn.
Wait a minute. What’s this? The advertisement said the socks had aloe in them or were aloe? Can’t recall. Only hand-washing was recommended. Their softness sold me in three seconds. In winter as in summer, I suffer from callouses on my heels. At three dollars a pair, I almost threw three packages into my cart. Something stopped me.
The first time I wore the socks, I expected magic: soft feet overnight. And yes, I wore them to bed. Canada’s winters are cold; freezing this year. Sigh. No miracle occurred that night or the next no matter how velvety they were to the touch.
For washing, I threw them, inside out, into lukewarm water with a little dish soap. Thick fibres drifted to the top. Awful stuff. Scooping the fuzz balls out, I changed the water and started over again. Why did they shed and where was all that wool coming from? Would my socks disintegrate in the wash?
With care, I squeezed out all the water instead of wringing them out and hung them over the shower to dry.
The next couple of times I wore these strange foot warmers, fluff followed me everywhere: between my bed sheets, on the floor beside the bed, on the bathroom floor. At each washing, I expected a mass of fibres in my hands with nothing holding them together.
How many wearings or washings will they last? This latest adventure may be small but it’s not over yet. All for three measly bucks and no soft skin as anticipated. I wonder if I shouldn’t have put aloe and some O.V.O.O. on my heels before putting the socks on.
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You want magic. I’m here to share it with you. Use a Ped Egg on your heels–dry (the surface is like a rasp). The shower routine with the stone doesn’t work for me. Slather your feet with Vaseline. Put a plastic bag on each foot with a sock over each (cotton is good but not necessary) to hold it all together. Go to bed. In the morning your feet will be soft as a baby’s you-know-what. Honest.