High Class Nail Job
This morning for the first time in my life, at age 62 I got my nails done, both hands and feet. It took about an hour and a half. First they set me in a gigantic vibrating chair with a hot tub for my feet. The hot tub with massaging jets of bubbles rushing around and between my toes felt tickly but good. I probably sat there for twenty minutes before the work began. An extremely spoil-the-customer process designed to make me feel fussed-over and relaxed.
This was a no-decor sort of place, low key. A mother and daughter own the business and do all the work. There was a TV up in the corner, a couple of unimpressive plants, a sofa, and all the rest was bare except for work stations. From what I could see, it was an old-lady clientele. I had the first appointment. Next to arrive was a retired neurologist and his frail elderly wife. They both got pedicures. Since they, like me, are chihuahua owners, we all talked dogs, particularly since the shop owner is also a chihuahua enthusiast who just lost her dog to old age. The phone rang constantly. Before 10:00 A.M. all available time slots were taken for most of next week. Busy. Busy.
After the doctor and his wife left, next to arrive was an extremely old woman who had been given a gift certificate by one of her kids. Apparently she hadn't used the certificate and her kids pestered her so this was an alright-alright-I'm-doing-it situation.
Once work began on my toenails, the technician asked to see my choice from the color line-up. I held up the bottle. She shrieked, "No! No! Bad for you! Not good at all. Ugly color. Give me that! I go now and pick good color. You like it very much." She was of some oriental ancestry and language. The color I'd chosen was a sparkling gold. The technician chose instead a pinkish cranberry.
As she toiled away using this and that tool and device, I asked, "Is this one of those salons where you do the little designs and pictures and embed rhinestones, etc?"
She literally shuddered, looked like a person halfway between throwing up and eating a lemon...between puckered and puking. Clearly my question affected her deeply. She breathed dramatically, raised her eyebrows to the top of her forehead and replied sternly, "My clientele is not of the sort to appreciate things of that, uh, caliber."
I suggested, "By things of that sort, you mean flash and trash, the Las Vegas effect?"
"Exactly," she affirmed, "Nothing like that in THIS shop."
So after a while I found myself on the way home, my nails all nicely done in a style and color suitable for grandmas.
It was fun to get my nails done. I'm going to make it a regular thing, but next time, I'm getting an appointment at one of those er, uh, more, um, well...at a place more likely to do rhinestone designs, if you know what I mean. I may be old, I may be sick, I may have both feet on the proverbial banana skin at the edge of the grave, but I like flash and trash.
This was a no-decor sort of place, low key. A mother and daughter own the business and do all the work. There was a TV up in the corner, a couple of unimpressive plants, a sofa, and all the rest was bare except for work stations. From what I could see, it was an old-lady clientele. I had the first appointment. Next to arrive was a retired neurologist and his frail elderly wife. They both got pedicures. Since they, like me, are chihuahua owners, we all talked dogs, particularly since the shop owner is also a chihuahua enthusiast who just lost her dog to old age. The phone rang constantly. Before 10:00 A.M. all available time slots were taken for most of next week. Busy. Busy.
After the doctor and his wife left, next to arrive was an extremely old woman who had been given a gift certificate by one of her kids. Apparently she hadn't used the certificate and her kids pestered her so this was an alright-alright-I'm-doing-it situation.
Once work began on my toenails, the technician asked to see my choice from the color line-up. I held up the bottle. She shrieked, "No! No! Bad for you! Not good at all. Ugly color. Give me that! I go now and pick good color. You like it very much." She was of some oriental ancestry and language. The color I'd chosen was a sparkling gold. The technician chose instead a pinkish cranberry.
As she toiled away using this and that tool and device, I asked, "Is this one of those salons where you do the little designs and pictures and embed rhinestones, etc?"
She literally shuddered, looked like a person halfway between throwing up and eating a lemon...between puckered and puking. Clearly my question affected her deeply. She breathed dramatically, raised her eyebrows to the top of her forehead and replied sternly, "My clientele is not of the sort to appreciate things of that, uh, caliber."
I suggested, "By things of that sort, you mean flash and trash, the Las Vegas effect?"
"Exactly," she affirmed, "Nothing like that in THIS shop."
So after a while I found myself on the way home, my nails all nicely done in a style and color suitable for grandmas.
It was fun to get my nails done. I'm going to make it a regular thing, but next time, I'm getting an appointment at one of those er, uh, more, um, well...at a place more likely to do rhinestone designs, if you know what I mean. I may be old, I may be sick, I may have both feet on the proverbial banana skin at the edge of the grave, but I like flash and trash.
1 Comments:
I think you should get the gold to match Porque.
You know, anything glam you do to your fingers or toes will be MUCH admired and envied by the grandchildren. They are suckers for that kind of thing.
Post a Comment
<< Home