I had never heard of a foot peel until someone told me about their experience, skin sloughing off their feet in sheets. SHEETS. That’s what got me, really. That it came off in sheets. What does that even look like, I wondered? I asked in the internet, and the internet did not disappoint. With that one little search, I entered the world of Babyfoot foot peels. Never one to let a weird experience pass me by, I jump online and my very own own pair of chemical booties arrived a few days later. It was a journey.
Day One: Anticipation, Mild fear. You soak your feet and put on the booties. You wait the 60 minutes and then, because you do your due diligence, the extra 30 minutes recommended by all those people on the interwebz. You contemplate the possibility of a mild chemical burn, dismissing it because you really want to get to have the gross-amazing experience of peeling all that dead skin of your feet. After 90 minutes, you dutifully pad back to your bathroom — careful, careful — slide your slimy feet out of the booties and carefully run your feet underwater. You put your socks on and then, an hour later, take them off again just to check. Your feet look the same. No change.
Day Two: Doubt, Mistrust. You sleep in socks, as recommended. You soak your feet, as recommended. Before bed, you carefully inspect for any sign of change. None. You wonder if you bought a dud. An Amazon fake maybe? Or maybe your hooves are just beyond repair? You feel cranky, disappointed, and mildly ashamed. Why aren’t they peeling yet, you wonder even though you know damn well that you were told 3-7 days before anything would happen. You stare down skeptically. You’ll believe it when you see it.
Day Three: Excitement. It is happening! After you soak your feet, you can see the small edges of skin starting to loosen. It is working! You go to bed like a kid on Christmas Eve, anticipating what gifts the next day might hold.
Day Four: Revulsion/Fascination. HOLY SHIT YOUR FOOT IS MOLTING. You knew it would be gross/amazing but you didn’t expect your toe to, snake like, shed its entire casing revealing a whole new toe underneath. This is incredible and so, so, so gross. You contemplate calling your partner in to look and/or sending a picture to your closest friends. Someone else should see this, right? You aren’t sure. But after your shower, you get to work, scrape scrape scraping away.
Day Five: Revived Fear. Dear god, what if it never stops and this is just want your feet look like now?
Day Six: Denial, Regret. It is slowing now, you can tell, but you soak your feet again anyway. You scrape at the soft, smooth skin, hoping to find purchase. You know the end is coming, but you aren’t ready. You wonder, “Should I have savored it longer? Not scraped so aggressively early on?” You can’t believe it is almost over.
Day Seven: Acceptance. These are your feet now, back to smooth and patch-free. It’s fine. You are glad, you suppose, that they aren’t peeling anymore. It is better this way, you tell yourself. This is how feet are meant to be. You pet your soft heel while you Google, “How much time between foot peels?”
The Belly Fish 