Monday, May 11, 2009

Ionic bullshit

Let's start by saying that I'm usually the first to question everything - does that bread really have 45 grams of fibre in it and if so, why aren't I crapping 24/7? Does the Sham-Wow really absorb a gallon of water (or whatever liquid you spill on your new couch)? I need to test it out, break it down and examine the inner workings. I did it with grasshoppers and caterpillars when I was little and I do it now. So, that's why I even surprised myself this past weekend when I stepped foot into an ionic foot bath to find out what toxins were in me, no questions asked. Okay, I really wanted more pampering and after having a manicure and waxing (ouch! okay, it was only my gargantuanly overgrown eyebrows), I still wanted more. The more turned out to be a footsoak in my own filth and tinny stench - that's right, tinny - because apparently I'm so heavy metal I secrete vats of the stuff.

The process itself took only 20 minutes but the results were painfully disgusting. After ensuring my feet were spa-worthy pristine, blue toe polish and all, I stepped into the tub and got hooked up to a pad of wires designed to send a current through my body and out of my feet. Within a minute the once-clear water was orange: metal. A past yeast infection came to light again in white foam coming from my feet, later changing to black specks (damn, my liver had spilled forth my secret, nightly wine ritual). My friend's daughter, the reason for the all-girls, all-spa moment, concoted the perfect moniker for the exercise - toe juice.

Toe juice. Tinny toe juice. Or as her 14-year-old ears heard, titty toe juice. This is a girl who, upon hearing "I would like steak for dinner," would deduce that I had said that "Angelina and I both have a dog named Clifford." No, I haven't changed Kao's name and certainly wouldn't pick Clifford as a replacement, but you get the picture. She needs to clean her ears out and she has a vivid imagination.

Anyways, back to the titty toe juice. Did that all come out of my feet? Is there a man behind the curtain playing with all of the controls (and the controls in my feet)? Or, am I so toxic that my once clean feet had to be showered and washed of my gross, disturbingly smelly toxins?

I'm apt to believe that smoke and mirrors were behind the whole thing. How could I have survived 38 years with all of that orange, blacky flaky crap in me? Am I doomed to live a toxic life? I agree I could make better choices - organic vegetables, fish, kamut and tofu - but will I be doomed to secrete toe juice because of the environment around me? These things I can not control?

Tinny toe juice be damned - and that titty toe juice too.


  1. Really?
    Now I want to try out something like this myself, and if milk chocolate doesn't ooze out, I'll slap the 'titty toe juice' producer (standing behind the curtain, naturally).

  2. I think you should try it at least once - it's amazing to see the instant change. Just make sure the man behind the curtain behaves himself. And, don't drink the chocolate toe juice. There's no telling what's in there!