Pedicures

I’ve had two professional pedicures in my life. In my entire life . .. two. And both were in the last six weeks.

Pedicure #1

Last month we went on a cruise. I was excited because we had some free onboard credit. I determined before we left that I would use part of that for a spa pedicure. So on the first day onboard, I headed up to the spa, only to be discouraged by the price. I debated with myself for a few hours, then found out that if I waited until the boat was in a port I could get the pedicure for half price. That did it. I signed up.

So while my family went on Mr. Toad’s wild ATV ride in the jungle( I got to go the next day at the next port), I luxuriated in a spa pedicure. Ahhhh. Let me describe this to you:

First, dear Anaisa from Africa had me soak my feet in luxurious bubbles. Then she exfoliated my skin below my knees with this wonderful smelling scrubby stuff. Then she buffed my feet and pushed back the cuticles. Each foot would soak while the other was being treated. Then, now get this, she got hot stones and greased them up and massaged my legs and feet with these hot stones. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water. Yes, my mouth is watering. She did that for a long time while soft music played and I rested my head in the comfortable chair. Ahhh. Then, she rubbed on this wonderful tingly cool gel. It was called a fire and ice pedicure- hot stones = fire; gel= ice. Ah, so nice. Next came delicious-smelling lotion. She massaged my legs and then my feet for a long time. It was wonderful. Then she put stuff between my toes and carefully painted my toenails- four careful coats in all. Then she put me under a toenail dryer for awhile. I read my book. Then she gave me these jazzy little paper thongs so I wouldn’t smudge my toes. I left feeling happy and feeling that Anaisa and I would be friends for life.

Pedicure#2

I admit, Pedicure #1 created an appetite for pedicures. It’s hard for me to even get to my toes. I know they are down there, but unless my foot gets really ahead of my body, I can’t even see them. So, having someone take care of that for me just sounds like pure heaven. So, I’ve been plotting and checking around. I found this place called Asia Nails that advertised spa pedicures for $19. I called them and talked to the oriental owner. I asked what it included: soak, scrub, massage, paint. Do you sterilize the instruments. “Of course we do. That’s the rule.” The defensive tone in his voice should have scared me. It did, but I decided to give it a try anyway. So armed with my paper flip flops from the last pedicure, I entered Asian He . . ., oh, excuse me, I mean, Asian Nail. I walk in and am immediately ordered to choose my color. On the wall are all these paints. I choose one and head back to where I was ordered. I’m told to put my feet in the foot bath. I do, and immediately say, “Ah! That’s too hot!” “Take your feet out lady.” I do and she adds some cold water and turns on the bubbles. After soaking for less than thirty seconds, a 2^nd little Asian gal comes and orders me to take my feet out and put them up here (on a dirty- looking towel.) “Not like that ! How do you expect me to clean your toes?” “My jaw drops to my chest and stays there for most of the rest of the ordeal. She starts poking my feet with instruments. “Ouch!” “Oh, that hurts?,” she asks with a wicked smile. While she works, she talks in Tagalog with the gal next to her. They sneer. I wish I knew how to say, “Stupid Mormon woman” in Tagalog because I ‘m pretty sure that’s what they’re saying . . .or worse. Melanie and Aaron, where were you when I needed you.

Okay, so then she starts clipping at my cuticles with scissors. Ah, I don’t want to be clipped. I lose concentration (maybe even consciousness) at one point and she tells me off. “Are you trying to make this hard on me?” How rude of me. Here I thought a pedicure was about ME- not YOU, lady! Then she puts this foul smelling stuff (I think it dissolves skin) and then she takes this brushy thingy, grasps my foot, and starts vigorously rubbing the bottom of my feet with the brush. I’m jumping all over the place, but like an experienced fisherman extracting the hook, she has a firm grip, and I can’t get loose.

By now, the chairs around me are filling up. Others try to engage these gals in conversation. They’ll have nothing of it. They just sneer and talk Tagolog with each other. I don’t even try to make conversation. ( Remember my lower jaw is on my chest- it’s hard to talk in that position.)

Then comes the massage part. Oh good. At least this will feel good. Okay, here’s the massage: She sprays pink lotion up my leg and rubs it in maybe twice. Then she grasps my foot and with the other hand starts slapping the top of my foot as hard as she can. Yes, open hand slapping! Then she balls her hand into a fist and pounds the bottom of my foot as hard as she can. That’s the massage. Bruised and bleeding ( from the cutting and filing) she then yells at me again for not holding my foot right as she applies the polish. She puts on two coats, tells me to sit there to let it dry and she moves onto another poor victim. Pedicure chop shop.

While I’m sitting there, I watch the workers throw dirty towels in a hamper. Then I watch them go and get towels to use out of that same hamper. I watch them put their tray of instruments in a cupboard. I watch them get trays of instruments to use on the next person out of that same cupboard. I watch the one male working there picking his nose (No, I’m not kidding), then without washing his hands go to work on the next client. Ahh. After a few minutes, I go to pay. The lady at the register tells me I can leave a tip.

As I hobble out, I swear I will never get a pedicure again. My pedicure appetite has been spoiled. I go home and spread sanitizing gel all over my feet and toes. Then I put Neosporin all over them. I continually check for signs of infection. I pray my toes are pink only because of the polish and not because of infection. I wake up the next morning, sure I’ll see pussy discharge, sure signs of gangrene. Every time I feel a tingle in a toe, I have to check it. This goes on for days.

So now I’m on to my next plotting. Don’t tell them, but it involves three daughters in Virginia later this month. I’m thinking I will let them choose Pedicure #1 or Pedicure #2- kind of like Door #1 or Door #2 on “Let’s Make a Deal.” If they choose #2 they’ll hear, “Dun, Dun Dun!” And I’ll start yelling at them to hold their feet still and I’ll burn and cut and pound and slap. But I’ll use a clean towel. That’s where I draw the line. Hopefully they’ll all choose #1. Anyone know where I can get some smooth, hot stones?

As for me, I guess I'm going back to my previous way of doing things. I do the scrubbing and clipping and preparing and Ken does the painting. He was a little hesitant at first, but I told him, "Just stay in the lines - like in coloring." He does a great job. And he doesn't hit, slap, or sneer. AND sometimes he throws in a nice massage. I didn't know how good I had it!