| When I mentioned to Paul that I really needed to get a pedicure a few weeks ago, he threw a fit. He gave me a lecture on foot fungus, toe infections and the generally poor hygiene standards at salons. I see his point, of course, but my feet are a hygiene travesty by themselves. He offered to start giving me regular pedicures. I was charmed by the romance of it all. He was serious, though. He said if I found him "instructions" and bought the supplies, he's be happy to maintain my tootsies. I promptly did a google search and visited the "how to" site, and emailed him a few pages. Then I went and bought $20 of pedicure supplies. Over the next couple weeks, I gave myself a couple foot soaks, trimmed my own cuticles, sloughed my own callouses, and applied my own lotion. I even attempted to polish my own nails. I have never been able to paint my nails without it looking like a kindergarten class project. Paul was preoccupied, but he still intended to give me my promised pedicure. Today though, after a rough day at work, my friend Casey talked me into going with her to a real-life nail salon. Of course I was concerned for my health, and hated to deprive Paul of the intimate joy of shaving my callouses, but I thought it would be a fun way to relax after work. Here is where I give you the REAL reasons that I rarely darken the door of a nail salon. When I got there, Casey was already soaking. I signed in on the clipboard, and tried to hold my breath before I passed out from the acrylic fumes. A masked man asked what I needed, and gave me some heavily accented, muffled instructions. I found the chair in the back in which I supposed to sit, but neglected to pick out nail color. So I tramped back to the front and chose a fun purplish-pink color. Then I waited for a tiny, attractive, graceful, Asian lady to come turn on my water and instruct me further. My feet soaked while Oprah interviewed some poofy haired cultists. The tiny, attractive, graceful, Asian lady (let's just go ahead and call her TAGAL) came and asked which pedicure I'd prefer off the menu. I was pretty happy with the results I'd been getting with my at home pedis, so I chose the 2nd level of intensity, the "ice-scrub" - more exfoliation than the "basic pedi", but not quite as brutal as the "callous treatment". She glanced at my feet and recommended the callous remover. I didn't want to anger her, so I agreed. Quickly. TAGAL removed the remainder of my last poorly applied polish, and started working on my cuticles. After trimiming my nails and cuticles, she squirted some clear liquid on my foot that appeared to melt skin, and then began shaving my heels. I was horrified by the mountain of dead skin that she discarded on the towel. After that, she applied a foot scrub and started violently tickling my feet with an abrasive block. Of course I giggled the whole time! She was lucky I didn't mule kick her in the face! She then scrubbed my feet and calves, and then massaged my feet and calves for about ten minutes. About two minutes in, when she was massaging neon green exfoliant into my already flourescent calves and apparently deploring my whiteness to her colleague in a language I do not speak, I realized that I really need to shave. If you're keeping count, that's embarrassing moment #4. Thinking that it couldn't get much worse, I checked email on my phone. TAGAL interrupted me to ask me to open the nail polish. She couldn't open it. I had picked the only petrified, unopenable bottle in the place. Score! No prize. She slapped disposable sandals on my feet and I toddled back up to the front of the store and picked another bottle, and trust me, I tested it. It opened. After crawling back in my chair, TAGAL expertly polished my deformed little feet and then looked expectantly at me, saying "OK!". I eased out of the chair, taking my big fat purse and PLOPPING it down on my big fat toe! There was no freaking way I was going to point out that big ole smudge, I just paid and left, people. |
