Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Nail Art

Every now and then, I treat myself to a manicure or a pedicure. So it was exciting for me and my neighbors when a nail salon opened right around the corner from us.

Not long after they opened their doors, I went in to ask if they were interested in getting a website. The staff didn't seem to understand, or maybe they weren't interested so I didn't employ my usual charm and persuasiveness. But I took a brochure.

Some weeks later, a woman who I think is one of the owners stopped me as I was walking by with my dogs. She fell in love with them. Not enough to get her off her cellphone, but enough to shoot questions like "what kind of dogs are these?" "where did you get them?" and my all-time favorite, "how old are your puppies?"

Most impressive was that while petting them and making personal comments about Dino and Bella ("he's kind of fat, isn't he?"), she continued a lively conversation with someone in, I think, Vietnamese. I was impressed with this display of bilingual multitasking. I mean, I can't even chew gum and write at the same time.

This past Good Friday, I decided to get a pedicure. Nico had texted to ask if I'd accompany him, his mother, and his brother to Good Friday evening services. Since I'd never been to a Greek Orthodox service, and he's been diligent about attending my Sedars, it sounded like a great idea and nice thing to do with his family.

But my feet were a mess, the weather was warm, and I wanted to wear my cute Tommy Hilfiger chunky sandals. It was time to visit the nail salon.

For the record, the service was great. It was more than half-full when I arrived but there was enough staff for someone to take me right away. The pedicure chairs were leather (maybe fake, I really don't care), comfortable, and had all those kneading and rolling settings. The attendant brought me a cold bottle of water--a nice touch. I chose a pedicure spa treatment that included... well, you don't need the details but let me tell you, that cheese grater thing took off about an inch of dead heel skin and my feet have never felt so good.

I had barely noticed a rather large woman on her cellphone when I entered the salon. But about halfway through the treatment, I heard her loud and clear. I wasn't listening for her. I had my earbuds in, listening to the classic rock station pulled in by my own cellphone. I may even have closed my eyes for a minute or two. Until I started to hear snippets about a problem at work, something about a lawsuit, and a lot of talk that really shouldn't be out on the public airwaves.

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