Cowboys Getting Pedicures

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My boys and I had to go to the city to get some new tennis shoes Monday evening—yes, I still call them tennis shoes and probably always will—and on our way out of the mall, we walked past a nail place. In this season in my life, whenever I see a nail place, all I can think about is how blissful and heavenly it is for a nice person to poke and pick at my feet for 30 minutes or so, and I’m like a Pavlovian dog. This happened to me Monday evening. . . .

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