Word: feet
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...cordially invited to Katy Perry’s wedding, a wedding that boasts a not-so-straight bride, an adolescent-looking groom, a bridal party, and a zebra. As the baby-faced Alexander gets cold feet, the maid of honor—a not-so-handsome man in a very handsome dress—delivers the perfect “Oh my God, you scumbag; I can’t believe you haven’t answered yet” face. Then, as the bridal party inexplicably begins to dance, a black groomsman with the most awesome dreads pulls...
...become food critics and restaurant reviewers. They are the food snobs who know what they like and are unrelenting in their opinions. The egalitarians, on the other hand, are the ones who wax nostalgic about steaming bowls of tripe prepared by their mother in the winter, or the chicken feet they had at dim sum with their grandparents. For them, whether or not they like a food depends much more on the company and memories surrounding the dish than on the taste of the item itself. (Tripe, nota bene, is cow stomach.) These are the people who are hopelessly easy...
...mind was bouncing excitedly from one famous foot maintenance to another?Jesus washing the feet of his apostles, Mary Magdalene rubbing Jesus’ toes with her hair?when I realized my mani-pedi was over...
...suddenly remembered that all those bodies I maneuvered past had feet, and all the female feet wore nail polish. No woman I saw in Mumbai was so poor that there wasn’t some disintegrating color on her toes, some trace of shimmer. Personal grooming, which had always struck me as a waste of time, took on a new character. Getting your nails done wasn’t selfish, it was a kind of neighborhood beautification. I was living in a city of 40 million filthy, scuffed, aching feet, but all across Mumbai women were getting pedicures?on Malabar...
...forgo the usual ritual of tequila shots, awkward dancing to the latest T.I. song, and waking up the next morning (aka 3 p.m.) with painful aches and even more painful recollections for a mellow night of takeout from the Kong and numerous episodes of Gossip Girl. After getting your feet toasty warm by the fireplace (aka the stack of Moo Shu chicken on the floor) and cheering for Team Serena, you hear a drunken rendition of “Living on a Prayer” that would make even William Hung cringe. Apparently, not everyone shares your goal for ambience...