Heels

Her heels were hanging over the edge of her shoes, giving the illusion that she was wearing slippers. She was fat. No illusion there. Her thighs crashed into each other even when her walk was nothing more than a casual shuffle with her feet not leaving the ground. She barely spoke. When she came into get customers (patients?) she looked at them and motioned with her hand.

It was the sight of her heels that got to me. I was about to let this woman see my most intimate areas and she couldn't bother to pull the backs of her shoes over her Achilles? She had plenty of opportunity to fix them. After assisting each woman she sauntered back to a stool in the corner and thumbed at her phone. Her assistance took mere minutes and I wondered how many hours a day she sat on her ass, staring at her phone and not putting her shoes on properly.

The moment I noticed her heals marked the moment I reconsidered what I was about to do.

A hydrotherapy colonics session was my birthday present to myself this year. I woke up on January 25, 2011 and Groupon had emailed me (they MUST have known) a deal for 25 bucks. My enthusiasm was met with varied responses from friends and family. Some were suspicious (“Why?”), some were intrigued (“What exactly do they do?”) while others were supportive (“Cool. All the celebrities do that! You'll lose a bunch of weight, right?”) And some were jealous.

Now here I am. Waiting my turn on a black leather couch. The woman across from me is soaking her feet and staring. My earphones are in but I'm desperate to hear information about what I'm about to do. A woman walks out holding her stomach in pleasure. “Aww lordy, when can I come in again?” She asks the receptionist. I considered this a good sign. A happy, cleansed patron.

Heals peaks around the corner and motions me to follow. We enter a room with a sink, toilet and a contraption with a hole and some tubes. Heals explains that I'm to lubricate and insert. She'll be back to check on me. She leaves and I'm nervous. Where do I sit? How do I lay down? How far should I stick this up my rectum? Everything is revealed through my own discovery as Heals is busy playing with her phone in the other room.

Did I walk out feeling “light” as promised? Did I lose weight? No and no. I felt exactly how you would imagine-like I had been shitting in a public bathroom for the last hour. Heels was sitting on her stool when I emerged. She points at a vitamin and shot of juice, indicating that I should take them without looking up from texting or playing a game or whatever. “That's what they are.” She nods to the packaged bottles beside them with the price tag visible. Hell of a saleswoman, Heels.