In continuing with living my exciting life of tattoos and piercings, I venture out with my boyfriend to restaurants that are out of my comfort zone.  His idea of freaky is frequenting an area of the Metroplex called “China Town.”  It is a shopping center that is literally called “China Town.”  There are lots of imposing statues of what appear to be some type of Chinese Gods or warriors throughout the parking lot, and the center is full of oddities.  You can try all kinds of weird delectable delights from Korean barbecue to Japanese Ramen to other restaurants which names are written in squiggly characters that no one can read.  Oh, and apparently the new giant warriors replaced a collection of smaller Asian statuary that are now huddled in one corner of the parking lot as if they are in time out.

We have tried several different restaurants in China Town and rarely find one we don’t enjoy.  But one thing we had not done is stopped at one of the many foot spas surrounding the restaurants.  That is, until recently.  The reason for not trying one was the lack of knowledge and understanding of the terms “nice touch” in a place with blacked out windows, and, of course, our inability to read squiggly characters.  So if something says “spa” but doesn’t elaborate in English, my boyfriend automatically assumes it is going to house prostitutes or other low-end activity that will land a person in jail. But on our last and most recent visit to China Town, we took a closer look. 

On our last visit to our favorite Chinese restaurant in China Town, we saw the usual, Chinese Ice Cream shop, Chinese bakery, Chinese barbecue, oh and the VIP Spa.  My boyfriend drove into the parking lot.  We had already decided on our way to China Town for dinner that we would get a “foot massage” in one of these places before we went home.  So there we were, sitting in a parking lot, in the car, staring at the building, trying to decide if it was safe to go inside.  We debated about what was taking place behind the completely blacked out windows that were decorated with pictures of people getting massages.  Was this just a front for some other illegal activity?  If we don’t go in, will we always wonder what we missed?  We talked ourselves into leaving. As we pulled back onto the road, an Asian woman came out of the front door of the spa and tried to flag us down.  My boyfriend floored it!

As we headed down the road, I remembered this one place we passed every time and the name makes me giggle, “Happy Foot.”  It had a sign that was happy, and from the sound of it, at least one of my two feet was bound to be happy when I left there.  My boyfriend made a quick manuever with the car, and before you know it, we were standing at the door of Happy Foot.    We opened the door and walked into this long dark hallway when all of a sudden about 6 Asian people greeted us.  They were a little slow that night.  After all, it was a Saturday night in a humming metropolis, who wants to stop for a foot massage.  We were led into a room with two lounge chairs a television and a table between us.  It was almost as if we stepped back in time to Archie Bunker’s house.   Our feet were quickly stripped and placed in wooden pails of warm water.  Thirty minutes later, after scrubbing, rubbing and pounding, we were left to put our shoes back on and then pay.  That was the cheapest and best foot massage I have ever received.  Not only did we leave with a happy foot each, but we left with another happy foot each as well.  The entire experience was a positive one, and maybe next time we will actually go into the “spa.”

Live life on the edge once in a while!

Carpet Diem!

*Just in case you are interested, the picture of the happy feet comes from http://www.citymarshall.co.uk/footreadings.html.  You can get foot readings, reflexology and a foot massage!