I don’t usually write analysis and discussion of popular-culture type posts. If you’ve been reading Notes from the Intern, you’ll know that I write about publishing, literature, my job, or my horrible messy love life. But, as I’m hiding in my room, trying to take my mind off my most recent romantic failure, I thought I’d give the popular-culture-analysis post a go.
Last week I saw one of those little booths were you can go and have fish eat your feet. If you’ve never seen one of these booths, you might think I have finally lost my ability to form sentences, and I’m randomly linking words. But this is not the case. There’s a popular beauty treatment in which you can pay to have piranhas eat the dead skin off your feet. (I’m not really sure they’re actually piranhas, they might be really hungry tadpoles. I don’t know.) So, about the fish that eat your feet.
They are absolutely discussing.
I am not a nature prude, as I have been known to take a swim in the sea. But I would not willingly put my hand in a fish tank. When you’re in the sea, there’s salt and enough water to dilute the fish poo, pee, and other sea bits that might be floating about. (Or at least it seems to be diluted; I’m sure a marine biologist would tell my otherwise.) Whereas a fist tank has visible bits of fish excrement floating in it, and I can’t imagine that a tank of carnivorous fish would have any less faecal matter than a regular fish tank, and I’m not putting my feet in to find out.
Second, if mosquitoes can transfer yellow fever, malaria and West Nile virus, and if fleas can transfer the plague, then why can’t foot eating fish transfer some sort of vile disease? What if some skanky grimey-footed hobo puts his feet in the tank, and those little tadpoles nibble on his herpes ridden toes, then transfer his toe herpes to the next person in line to use the tank? I’m not paying to put myself into that situation.
So, that’s why foot eating fish as are a ridiculous answer to the pedicure.
Not sure if I really like writing this type of blog. I think tomorrow I’ll go back to whining about my life.