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.