I can’t. I just can’t.
I’m telling you, I can’t get a pedicure.
It always sounds like a wonderful relaxing treat, but by the time my twinkle toes are in the hands of the masseur, I die. It’s a writhing dance of pretend enjoyment until I almost go full-Norris roundhouse on their face.
I cannot, and I envy those who can.
Can I get a witness, or is it just me?