Every Christmas, mildly in love, middle-class men ponder the question: What do you give a girl who has everything?
To which I respond: a foot massage.
And yet, how absolutely disgusting are feet? At least, mine are – mangled by years en pointe, long walks on the beach, and high heels thereafter. Your girl who has everything is not likely to let your well manicured man-hands anywhere near her well pedicured toes. In the same way that some men don’t know what their significant other looks like without makeup, disallowing physical contact anywhere below the ankles keeps the mystery in a relationship alive.
You see? I give the best advice.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, foot massages still trump all on the list of tasks to be ticked off by the perfect partner. While Alex has never so much as looked at my disastrous pediatric situation, I did succumb to the reflexology massage ladies at Phuket airport, and was just about heaven-bound, but for the stabbing pain when those magic fingers reached the part of my heel that is supposed to match up with one’s uterus.
My period miraculously arrived two hours later.
Now a dozen red roses can’t do that, can they?
I remain extremely confused as to the purpose of reflexology.
But it is true: the way to a woman’s heart is through her feet. Balenciaga and Valentino are the fastest route, but for those less committed, presenting the possibility of a foot massage (self-administered or not) is an excellent intermediate step to being a gift-master.
You see? Mystery. I rest my case.
The apparatus required for this is quite simple. Peppermint foot hugs by The Body Shop (last time I checked, The Galeries store is well stocked in this department), gentle exfoliant if a foot file/PedEgg is too much
Parmesan to handle, coconut anything, and Miranda Kerr. Everyone wants their feet to look like Miranda Kerr ‘s.
Add a starfish, a seashell, a pretty box, breakfast in bed, and perhaps Alexander Wang for her birthday.