P Words For A Good Marriage: Polish, Pamper & Porn?
Today’s post originated with the idea that I should write an article about pampering. Pampering ourselves and pampering our loved ones. (In this exact instant it is dawning on me that the brand of diapers Pampers, was probably chosen because of the meaning of the word pamper.) I love it when I have those light bulb moments! Back on track. I wanted to write about pampering for a few reasons.
1. I stumbled across a thought provoking article on the subject of one way a husband can pamper his wife. (Keep reading).
2. People’s financial situations this holiday season will require many to cut back on spending, so pampering someone can be a meaningful, inexpensive gift to give without breaking the bank.
3. Women are pulled in so many directions that the stress of everyday life is truly taking a toll on our mental and physical health, and pampering is in order!
Studies show that even when mothers match their husbands in hours worked at a job outside the home, the brunt of the child rearing workload is still handled primarily by the mother inside the home. (This is not to say all husbands are lazy. Sometimes men are willing to help, but their wives don’t let them, because of a controlling, protective nature. And sometimes the kids are just at an age where they need more of mom’s skills over dad’s.) Regardless of the reason, the end result is a bunch of stressed out, over-worked women with no down time for themselves.
That must change! BUT, as strongly as I believe that, I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about an article I read by our friends over at Marriage-zone.com, while doing research for this topic. Here’s the background: Dude wants to show his wife how much he loves and cares about her; dude paints her toenails. (Not just once, but regularly).
Even though the guy was not saying a man should paint his wife’s toes as a means to getting sexual gratification for himself, I feel compelled to turn the idea into a porn video in my mind. I imagine the pedicure as pure foreplay by seeing myself panty-less, in a skirt, as my man looks up with my big toe in his hand, examining the nail as he asks sultrily, “is this too short, or do you want it longer?”
I think the reason I feel such a need to take an innocent toe polishing event and turn it nasty is because quite frankly, I’m sexist, and part of me feels turned off by the notion of my man in the role of pedicurist. Also, I am certain that the type of men I tend to be attracted to would equate such nail polishing endeavors with their own castration. In fact, about halfway through the article, I think I channeled every one of my ex-boyfriends’ priapic-obsessed spirits and heard all of their voices saying a four letter word that begins with H and ends with O and rhymes with SLOW MO.
My unenlightened self tended to agree with their imaginary voices. I was certain that if any man of mine pranced down the hall with my bottle of Shimmering Cranberry red and my buffer and file, hollering, “I’m ready to paint your toenails! Now bring those cute little tootsies over here!”, I might very well want to flee the building as if it were on fire. A flaming fire. Indeed, I unapologetically admit that some part of my brain (the sexist part) would register the word “flamer”, if I were to find myself in this situation with my husband.
But after pondering the article awhile, my enlightened brain took over, and I started thinking about just how nice it would be to look down my bare legs to my magenta toes and see the face of my hot, hunk of a future husband instead of the Asian girl who, 30 minutes earlier, angrily barked “Pick-a-cullah” at me. (In addition to being sexist, I am a labor-racial stereotyper).
I also thought about how much I have loved the touch of any boyfriend’s hands on my feet, as well as the sight of their big, strong, masculine fingers juxtaposed against my helpless little soles, so why not expand this to include a steady, veiny hand applying a light coating of coral or crimson to the ends of my little piggies, followed by my man blowing on my toes to dry them? (The irony is not lost on me, that women blow on men’s appendages all the time in order to cause the opposite effect).
There I go again creating the porn video, but in all seriousness, I imagine that the sheer giving nature of the toe job by a man, might be such an aphrodisiac for her, that it could instigate the act that rhymes with it by his woman.
I really believe there is a way for a guy to keep his macho, superhero status and still perform a typically feminine gesture. In fact, it may be the dichotomy of the two that makes the idea appealing. If a masculine guy is secure enough in his manhood, and good enough with his hands to apply pastel, glossy sheen to my nubs, and save me from the toe polishing experience I describe in Men Are Oblivious, then I think that would be a huge turn on. I guess the way I look at it now, is that a lot of men can give you an orgasm of the usual variety, but it takes an extra special man to bring your feet to orgasm. To steal from Paris, that’s hot! So, if any of you have become convinced enough that husband as pedicurist is a good idea, I suggest broaching the topic after plying him with copious amounts of alcohol, and if he goes for it, then buy some of these appropriately named shades of my favorite OPI polish. Any line which has colors named Madame President, Because I said So, and Queen Of Everything, is my kind of brand!
Now go have fun with your adventurous, new weekly porn shooting session…I mean toe polishing session.
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