(Verse 1) I walked into the apartment, the Capuchin noise still ringing, [Voice: Low, weary, deeply put-upon] The smell of sweat and dust and utter confidence clinging. Fiona was on the sofa, a fine wine of a Skunk, looking tired, She specializes in feet, a detail that should be retired. She looked at me, gave me the look, the familiar, silent cue, I knew what I had to do, before the evening was through.

(Chorus) Oh, the Podiatry Payment Blues, a tax on marital existence, I pay with physical labor, for emotional assistance. She needs a foot rub for her day, I need an ear for my distress, A simple transaction, but the cost of intimacy is stress. [Piano plays a single, prolonged, mournful minor chord.] This is the arrangement.

(Verse 2) She slipped off the white shoes, the ones they wear in the clinic, And I reached for the lotion, the thick stuff, hypoallergenic. [Wally begins rubbing her feet—the music slightly quickens with his effort, but remains miserable.] I started in with the rant, about Reggie and Lamar and Paulie, The three Capuchin Monkeys, being aggressively jolly. "They take up the whole bodega, Fiona, the whole damn snack aisle! They laugh too loud! They touch the products! They treat existence like a trial!"

(Chorus) Oh, the Podiatry Payment Blues, a tax on marital existence, I pay with physical labor, for emotional assistance. She needs a foot rub for her day, I need an ear for my distress, A simple transaction, but the cost of intimacy is stress. [Bass line briefly becomes more active and agitated.] The price is too high.

(Bridge) [Music softens to just the piano and the quietest bassline. The Country Steel Guitar enters, playing a melody of tender, quiet resignation—a recognition of the strange, enduring bond they share, despite the foot situation.] [Steel Guitar Solo: 8 Bars. Smooth, soulful, slightly weary affection.]

(Spoken Word Section - Wally & Fiona) [Wally - Slow, meticulous, concentrating on the foot rub, his voice dripping with complaint] And then Reggie—the leader, the audacious one—he called me "little fella!" Little fella! I'm forty-eight! I fix complex motherboards! I provide for this household! He saw my entire life, Fiona, and dismissed it with two words! He didn't see the complexity! [Fiona - Voice is soft, calm, but firm] Wally, that metatarsal arch is tight. Use your thumb. [Wally - Immediate, annoyed compliance] Yes, yes, the arch. But the noise, Fiona! The banging outside the shop! They're deliberately placing scaffolding where my FedEx deliveries land! It's sabotage! [Fiona - Calmly] And remember to focus on the heel. It's been a long day of plantar fasciitis. [Wally - Deep, exasperated sigh] The heel. Unbelievable. I can't even vent without a structural correction to my technique.

(Verse 3) I finished the rub, I wiped my paws clean, the ordeal was complete, Fiona sighed, a sigh of deep contentment, thanks to my poor, aching retreat. She said, "Thank you, Wally. They sound awful." The absolution was granted. Now she'll talk for five minutes, a brief reward, completely supplanted By the dread of tomorrow, the Capuchins and the calluses awaiting, But for now, I got my solace, a miserable form of relating.

(Chorus) Oh, the Podiatry Payment Blues, a tax on marital existence, I pay with physical labor, for emotional assistance. She needs a foot rub for her day, I need an ear for my distress, A simple transaction, but the cost of intimacy is stress. [Full band hits a final, deflated chord that sustains, followed by a quiet "pop" as Wally opens his soda.] I need a shower.

(Outro) [Wally's voice, muttering] ...And she didn't even ask if I got the specific cola. Typical.