Parts is Parts
I bought a 365-day shoe calendar today for a friend of mine at work. I'm checking out at Barnes and Nobles when the clerk, a blonde-haired woman in her 40's, entirely unbidden by me, begins to chat.
"My daughter is just like that," she says, indicating the calendar. "She is a shoe FIEND. She's just crazy about them. And she even tries to buy them for me, but I'm just not into shoes."
"Nor am I," I say. "Except as basic covering for the feet."
"My mother was a foot model," she says, "and my daughter is just like her."
"A foot model?" I ask.
"Oh, yes," she says. "Now, I do have pretty feet. Just not pretty enough to model."
"Skipped a generation," I say, now absolutely confident that she is not hearing anything I say.
"I've done hair and hand modeling," she says. "I did some hair modeling just last month. I come from a family of body parts models. We've all done something--hair, neck, hands, calves, feet. I still do hair sometimes. Just not feet."
"I have ugly feet," I say. "Hideous. Almost deformed, really."
"If somebody needs a part, they just call us," she says, laughing. "Somebody's got one."
"I bite my nails," I say helpfully. "I could probably do a junkie's hands for a drug prevention ad."
"You have a Merry Christmas," she says, cheerfully handing over my bags.
I wonder if their family Christmas portrait is just a 'best parts' shot: hands, feet, neck, hair.
I'd like to think so.
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