MOM WITHOUT MAKEUP by Andrea Goto

Me and Callie

Every now and again a truly magnificent product makes its way onto the market. Take the Sonicare toothbrush, for instance—it strips teeth of their fuzzy lil’ sweaters in no time. Or those new slim, felted hangers to keep my closet from looking like a refugee camp. Or the PedEgg. Yep, you heard me right. The PedEgg is the best invention since Nutella, though for distinctly different reasons.

My husband surprised me with one this Christmas. It may seem strange—maybe even insensitive—that my husband would give me a callous remover for Christmas, but the truth is, I was curious. It’s kind of like a Snuggie or those pads that you stick to the bottom of your feet that promise to suck out all the bad juju from your innards: it’s possible that these products are as fantastic as their over-enthusiastic commercials portray, but I would rather lick my child’s fingers after an hour at the mall’s softplay than have someone see me purchase one. These are the kinds of items you hope to acquire by “chance” at a White Elephant party. (Sadly, this Christmas, I held a leopard print Snuggie in my hands for all of four minutes before it was snatched away by my friend. Ex-friend.)

So, by chance, my husband thought I’d enjoy a PedEgg. Or maybe he didn’t think all that hard about it since it was Christmas Eve and he was frantically raiding Rite Aid for my gifts. Regardless, I do have a history of, um, foot issues. I grow calluses like starfish regenerate severed limbs. I thought everyone who played sports or worked out suffered from them, but at the beach, I couldn’t figure out what they were doing differently to care for their little doggies. Why didn’t their feet look like a dried out San Andreas Fault? And not just on the bottoms, either. The heels, the side of my Big Daddy toes and my littlest piggies were afflicted. Sure, I could casually walk across a gravel driveway scattered with nails, but I couldn’t tell you what it feels like to rub my cat’s fur with my barefoot. I rubbed her, I just couldn’t feel it.

Partially stripped of my 5th sense, I was only half alive. Enter the PedEgg.

She’s pink. I named her Callie. She’s a not-too-distant relative of the cheese grater. The first time I used her and cracked her open to see the damage, I cried out, “Two tablespoons!” Yep, Callie pulverized my calluses, transforming them into what can only be described as—and I apologize for this—parmesan cheese (the finely grated variety, of course).

Two uses (and four tablespoons) later, I was reborn. Upon entering the bedroom, I felt the carpet beneath me for the first time. It was like seeing my first rainbow, or hearing my first symphony, or pounding a gallon of Gatorade the morning after a night of heavy imbibing…

The PedEgg isn’t perfect. Unless held perfectly upside down, Callie does leak a little foot dust. She also needs her graters replaced from time to time. But it’s such a small price to pay to be able to actually feel when my husband’s playing footsie with me.