Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Into the World of Women - With Trepidation

I am not a "girly girl."  To go shopping just to finger the merch is not my thing at all.  If I need (or want) an item of clothing, I find out where it's hiding, go to the store, try on my size and buy it, then and there.  No sidling through bedding or cosmetics with a little side jaunt into home furnishings or sporting goods.

Thus, it will come to no surprise to find that I have never had a professional manicure or pedicure.   Until yesterday.

I really needed a pedicure due to the fact that post-hip problems, I couldn't get to my feet and pre-and post elbow surgery I didn't have the grip necessary to force the clipper blades shut.   A pedicure seemed more practical than buying several pairs of open-toed shoes.  And most likely cheaper.

A friend recommended a place across the ally from his tonsorial parlor so I made an appointment.  The first thing I noticed was that the place was huge and apparently all they did was nails, upper and lower.  I'm accustomed to seeing one lorn, little table in a quiet corner of a hair salon where one's nails are treated.  Manicurist and client sit in little roll-away chairs.  A powerful lamp spotlights the fingers. 

Here I was faced with a row of six pedicure stations and I want you to see them, too.  Look to your left - see the big, grey leather chair that looks like it was removed from 1st class on a plane?  Good.  Now look slightly to your right and drop your eyes.  You should be seeing what looks like a bidet, lined with a blue plastic sack (for the soaking water sanitation.)  Keep looking right - a shiny plastic foot rest with two spaces for your calves.  Facing all of this is a small, roll-around stool with a short back for the pedicurist.  Now look down the row to the back wall.  All of the stations are different colors (and the little stools match.)

I had to wait for a moment so I busied myself by oh-so-casually noting what the woman next to me was having done.  It was, quite frankly, scary.  I didn't see the clip and file part; it must have been done before I got there.  What I did see was little wads of cotton between each toe; said toes being given a coat of polish.  After that, the toes, wads and all were stuck in an electrified box which gave off a blue light.  Apparently this helps dry the polish sooner than plain old air?

Okay, I wasn't getting a color job so I didn't care.  I just wanted my nails cut; least fuss the best.  But then!  The manicurist squirts a healthy splash of some kind of skin cream and begins massaging the woman's feet up the legs to the knee. 

No!  Don't do that to me!  I hate having strangers touch me!  My "Keep your distance" circle is about three feet.  Don't get any closer.  Packed elevators make me scowl. 

The lady was very nice, clipped and filed my nails and was sweet about it when I declined all of the rest.  I was charged $10, tipped $5 (it was worth it to escape all of the horrible rest) and fled as fast as my gimpy little legs could carry me away.   

For the women who like this sort of thing - God bless you.  I'm not one of you.

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