Last night, I escaped for a few hours so I could treat myself to a pedicure. The nail salon closes at 8, so I was sure to get there by 7. The place was hoppin’ when I walked in. I said I needed a pedicure, to which the technician responded, “okay honey, pick color,” as usual. I chose my color, sat in the pedicure chair, and settled in with a trashy magazine to wait my turn.
I waited. And waited.
Finally I asked one of the technicians how much longer it would be.
“You can go, honey. You nails dry.”
“Um, I haven’t had my pedicure yet.”
“Oh, honey, I so sorry! I see you, I think you finish!”
No worries. She sat down immediately and started working.
"I so sorry! I wash towels. I clean. I see you here, I think you finish."
"It's okay . . . these things happen." After all, I got to sit for 40 minutes in peace without anyone crawling all over me, wiping boogers on me, or making me watch television programs featuring child stars who will be in Celebrity Rehab in 5 years.
“Honey, you need eyebrow done?”
I look up from my book and reply, “no thanks; not tonight.”
She smiles and continues working on my toes, but it’s not long before she says, “you sure you no want eyebrow done?”
“I’m sure – maybe next time.”
Same thing. She works on my toes for a few minutes and then starts with the hard sell.
“Honey, you eyelash so long and pretty.”
“Thanks.” Keep the compliments coming, Lee the Nail Technician, you’re almost there. . .
“You get eyebrow done, it really make eye pop. Peopo see long eyelash.”
I hesitated, and she went in for the kill:
“Honey, they crooked. They not even. Let me fix eyebrow.”
I didn’t think they looked that bad, but now I’m all self-conscious and thinking I look like Gregory Peck: the later years.
She finished up my pedicure, (and my toes look fabulous,) and we headed to what shall now be referred to as Satan’s Hair Salon. Once inside, she combed my eyebrow hairs straight up and had me look in the mirror. What the? . . . how did Gregory Peck . . . oh.
Yes, let’s proceed. By all means.
She did a beautiful job on the eyebrows and now I look like a girl. So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.
And then, the loaded question:
“Honey, you want me wax bikini?”
To Be Continued . . .