Fishy feet

I got a fish pedicure on Friday. In case this fad has thus far passed you by, this involves dunking one's feet into a tank full of small fish (and water, obviously) and sitting there for fifteen minutes while they munch away at your dead skin. For the record, it is an odd experience. Once you get used to the tickling it is by no means an unpleasant tactile sensation, but it's hard to relax when you have that suspicion in the back of your mind that at any minute your little piscine friends are going to rise up against their oppressors and devour you from the toes up. There seems to be one fish in each tank that is at least twice the size of the next largest fish in there, and it is this fellow who seems to bite harder and more enthusiastically than all the others. It will be him who eventually draws his metaphorical sword and leads the other fishies in glorious revolution against the foot overlords. Of course, having done so, their source of food will be obliterated, and their community will wither and die, but this is the price one pays for social freedom. I'm sure Marx would approve.