It’s brilliant being at the top of the food chain (as a species, I mean – I’m not claiming to be at the absolute pinnacle of the food chain personally… although apparently human flesh tastes like chicken…). It means that we can force tiny little fish to chew dead skin off our feet, and all you have to do is go to Thailand for it.
Or be given a voucher for Christmas for a session of fishy-feet at the local beauty salon.
I know, you’re probably thinking, “Isn’t that weird?”. And you’re right – going into a beauty salon is one of the most unnerving sensations ever.
There’s not a hell of a lot to say about this, other than that: It turns out it’s not hilarious to ask the beautician what the names of all of the fish are, because you’re more than liable to get an earnest admission that they all look the same. I tried naming one Robert. That didn’t appear to help.
