"My feet are absolutely killing me." My wife said after we came back from her friend's wedding.

With no hesitation, she grabbed her ankle and twisted it 90-degrees. It came off cleanly, and she decided to set it on the table. The white heel remained on, and I made a joke about how we tell the kids to not put their dirty shoes on the furniture.

"Ha-ha. I have an excuse, unlike them." She began petting them gently. The detached foot reacted, flexing as if to escape it's entrapment. "You still plan on giving these a deep massage later?"

"Absolutely."