It's Just a Pedicure

I've never had a pedicure. I've always figured that I would save the money and paint my own toenails. But then my colleague, A. showed up with very pretty toes the other day and I was a bit envious. I was admiring her feet and complaining about how dry and cracked mine always are. She told me that getting a pedicure isn't just about the toenail: they soften, exfoliate, massage... Yeah, but for how much? She goes to the Paul Mitchell School and gets half an hour of foot happiness for only $18. I glanced at my cracked heels and decided: I was havin' me one of those.

Granted, I'm a rookie at this, but how hard can it be to make a pedicure appointment?

I called and arranged to go in next Saturday morning.

Receptionist: OK. So, how many appointments?

[Huh? My mind races. Do you have to go in for one part, then come back later for more? Are the appointments all in half-hour blocks, but I need an hour?]

Me: Uh... I don't know. How many do I need?

Receptionist: No, I mean how many people?

[Now my mind is really racing. I'm imagining those scenes from Wizard of Oz when Dorothy et. al. are in the Emerald City and each one of them is being worked on by a small army of people. ]

Me: Wow. How many people do we need? I mean, it's just a pedicure.

Receptionist (who is now getting tired of me): I'm asking if you are bringing any people with you?

[Moral support?]

Me: No....why would I do that?

At this point, another colleague, M. is about peeing herself, listening in on this. When I got off the phone, she told me, "Lots of people go to get pedicures with their friends." Really? Shit, should I call some friends? Will I be the only one getting a pedicure without my posse? Come to think of it, that is what Dorothy did. Now the receptionist will think, "Oh, THAT one. I remember her. She's dumb and she has no friends!"

Want to Caress My Thumbnail?

I had to go to the mall today. I haven't been in one in a couple of years; but Sara's 10th birthday is coming up, and I know she would love a pair of jeans from "Justice". That's where the cool girls get their clothes. I guess she's starting to notice this stuff. Great. This is the end of an era. The poor deprived child has made it through life up to this point totally delighted with second-hands, hand-me-downs, gifts and two pairs of pants that I bought at Target last year. So, she deserves a little treat.

But do I?

I was making my way back down the mall with my shopping when a man asked me, "Want some lotion?" It was one of those kiosks. My hands were kind of dry, so I said, "Yeah. Thanks." Dead Sea? Was that the brand? It felt and smelled sooooo goood. Adding to the trouble was the salesman, who was a very skilled flirt, and super hot. He caught at my hand and examined my (ragged, chewed down) nails. "Now. I'll show you what you need for your nails." "No, really. I don't bother much with my nails." "Why not?" "Uhhhhh.... I dunno. It's just not that important to me." "Well, it will be when you try this." He picks up a buffer and starts without further ado to rub it briskly over my thumbnail. I make a subtle attempt to withdraw my hand. No way. He is hard at buffing. "OK, now I turn the buffer over to the other side. This side contains seaweed, it stimulates circulation under the nail." I roll my eyes. He buffs a little more. "OK!" He lets my hand go and I look at my thumbnail. Holy s***. It's.... shiny. Smooth. It looks as though it has clear polish on it. I made the mistake of admiring it.

He went crazy. More lotion. Cuticle softener. A sea-salt rub. My God, that was incredible. My hands felt like a baby's butt. I found myself on the verge of abandoning my Dove and Vaseline values, drawn irresistibly toward a (gasp) SPA TREATMENT. He could see that his brand of hypnosis was working on me. If you have ever seen the scene from Jungle Book when Mowgli is entranced by Kha...

I snapped out of it in the nick of time. Something about the words, "sixty-nine ninety-five". I made a break for it, striding purposefully away, perspiration trickling down my back.

I'm all right, now, but I'm in thrall of my single buffed nail. I caress it with my other fingers. Rub it against my lower lip. Try to make it catch the light. I sat with Si this evening, gazing at it. "Do you think I ought to spoil myself more often?" "Absolutely. In these times of austerity, we need a little bright spot, even if it is just a thumbnail." I realized that he thought I felt I had spoiled myself by letting the sales guy buff the single nail.

Maybe I'll go get it manicured.