what happened!?!

I entered the salon as I always do, except this time I was ready.  Brand new Vogue in hand, Iphone in my grip, I announce, “spa pedicure, please” and flash a warm grin.  I need this.  My feet need this.  Not only because the paint is wearing, my feet were wearing too.  I read just the other day how one of my facebook pals ( yes, you Jill ) was going in for the works, and I thought to myself, I am following that lead.  On the very next small hour  I may have to myself, that will be just the ticket.  A quick hour for a pedicure is sometimes just the perfect little pick me up.  It can do wonders for some mental clearing, give me time to browse a recent rag for some inspiration, and gets those toes looking sandal ready.  Perfect!

I am usually in a baseball hat, coming fresh from the shower because I have just shaved my legs.  But not this time.  Ugh.  I try not to look and say a million “I’m sorry’s” in my mind to the poor girl who has no choice but to look.  One more won’t hurt-so sorry. “Just don’t think about it, Sissel”, goes the ego,  ”just give yourself a break and read your magazine.”  My new Vogue.  I walk in with my own magazines these days.  I have a pretty good selection at home and have been too busy to breeze through them.  And I think I owe them anyway.  You see, something happens to me when I go to these places.  I don’t know why.  I become a bit self conscious and feel like I am just not quite fitting in.  I have never been a girly girl.  And most of the women in nail salons are complete feminine girly girls.  Or at least, I think they must be.  And I become a klutz.  I have tripped and knocked over a supply cart.  On my way in.  Worst visit ever.  I prayed every woman in there was finishing so that new people wouldn’t know what happened and I could continue without wanting to shrink into myself.  You should have heard the conversation level between the polishers that day.  Pretty sure they were talking about me.  Then I dropped not one, but two magazines into my spa water.  Yep, same visit.  Different magazines.  The girl looked at me as if I did it on purpose. And every woman around me kind of glanced my way as well.  Shrinking again.  That is why I now bring my own.  And I now go to a different salon.  This visit was going well.  I didn’t trip or knock anything over, or anyone down.  I have my own magazine and it is dry.  I still have my phone and it still works.  I have made it through the polishing and she has slid my sandals on-over my wet toes.  Amazing!  Almost through.  She fixes a tiny smudge caused from my great toe and its reluctance to stay in its own toe zone.  It is constantly hugging up to the second toe and takes a double wad of paper to keep it away.  She carefully smoothes out the smudge with a paintbrush and a fresh coat.  Ah….  I can retreat with pretty feet and an ego intact this time.  Well, except for the unshaven legs. which I am giving myself a pass on.  I worked really hard this week. I happily pay her and she turns to retrieve my change.  Thinking my toes wouldn’t make it out of there without trying to embrace, I reach down to pull that little bit of paper up and separate those unseparable toes, and I smudge the entire toe she just fixed.  The whole toenail.  Wiped off.  I was almost out of there.  My patient polisher turns to hand me my change- and screams.  I am leaning over my injured toenail  like a guilty child unsure of which way to run or what to say.  I hold out my red finger and grunt.   She yells.  She doesn’t surmise what has happened. Nor does she laugh quietly, as I hoped, at the comedy of how in just one second I had removed all the polish she carefully stroked on.  Four times.  She yells.  ”WHAT HAAAAPPPPENED!?!”  And everyone turns.  I was almost out of there.  Needless to say- I tipped her a little extra and tried to silently slither out.  Am currently looking for a new salon.  Any suggestions?

Here is an image for you of one of my favorite little girly girls….have a shiny toe Friday.