Three days before L.'s wedding she invites me to join her for a manicure and pedicure. I haven't known her to be the type of girl to do this, but it's her wedding and there are 200 people invited. They probably want to see some good nails. I am getting excited about this wedding for a few reasons: 1) L. is a lovely friend and I really, really like her fiance, 2) there will be local food carts, & 3) there will be lawn games.
Leaving things to the last minute, L. googles the nearest nail place. I understand her dilemma, this is what I do too when I'm stressed, I "forget" about things and somehow that creates more stress. I wish I had checked in with her earlier to offer (my friend) services. But alas, here we are...and what a place it is. I won't name it because I really don't want to disparage a business on-line and I liked the woman who (I think) owns it.
Upon entering, I had some doubts. I would remember this moment later. There was nothing particularly wrong with the decor but not that much "right" about it either. Yellow walls. Babysitter ad stuck with a tack. And children, countless small children (more on that later).
We are told in broken English that someone will be with us in a minute and that it'll be $30. Fine. After selecting our polish, we are seated for pedicures. Everything looks clean and THE MAN attending to me, is nice. He has terrible skin and that makes me sad. I hope he's gay because a straight man doing ladies nails? With bad skin? Is just too sad for words. My pedicure is fine, aside from the tickling of the bottom of my rancid feet. But as I look at L., her face is grimacing and I switch to look at her toes and one is bleeding as the persistent lady works at it with a pointed instrument.
"Tell her she's hurting you!" I instruct L.
But she is too polite. I think she does tell her but alas the lady doesn't speak English and soon enough it's over.
My torture, on the other hand, has just begun. I always choose light, pale pinks, beiges, and whites, thinking them classy and on the stubs of my nails, appropriate. This time, it being summer and my wearing silver strappy sandals to the wedding, I go with metallic silver nail polish. IT LOOKED GOOD IN THE BOTTLE! I swear.
This is when I notice that L. and I are the only white people here, and that's cool, but I have to wonder that because of my pale skin, might I not require a um different aesthetic? Like I might not be able to pull off silver? But whatever, it's on my toes and there is no going back. This is when I begin to really take note of the small children running around like college students on Spring Break. There are the two sisters, one of whom's a baby and they are cute, loud, curly-haired and fighting. Then there's the owner's son who is a touch older and interested in the two girls. His mother yells stuff at him in another language and then looks to me for support and the man does my nails.
"I know. I know." I nod and repeat this with a what-can-you-do shrug. But I don't know, I don't have kids and I'm not sure I want them anymore. If it means tantrums over a wheeled ottoman like what's happening now. The two sisters are fighting over who gets to roll themselves on it. i understand. it looks fun. But now there is crying and the Baby Mama next to me who appears white but maybe isn't, is yelling about hitting them, smacking them, and having them wish they were never born.
Okay. Not the time to call Child Protective Services but disturbing. Still, the owner makes eye contact with me, a strange mask affixed to her mouth, the little girls continue to fight over the ottoman-ride and a new person walks in. So far a man selling chicken and turkey (if i overheard this right) has walked in and now there are two girls with 'tude. There is some miscommunication between the owner and the girls. They just immediately do not like each other and it's like a terrible car crash: I don't want to look but I can't turn away.
The girl with 'tude struts to a high chair and places her toes in the empty tiny tub. The princess awaiting her pedicure, but oops she drops a bottle of polish, it falls to the floor and with a loud crash it breaks into a million pieces. The owner rolls her eyes, snaps at the man doing my nails - he's on Coat Four and it's so thick I fear it will never dry - but he pops up and cleans the mess. The girl gets up and leaves. Apparently, her job here is done.
Just when I think this must be the best manicure/pedicure story ever...I spy out of the corner of my eye the strangest thing. The two girls, the may be sisters have stopped fighting and seemed to have "worked it out" in that the tiny baby type is belly down on the ottoman with her knees bent up. Her sister is standing behind her, holding onto her ankles and steering her, and thereby the ottoman across the salon. The baby being steered has the oddest expression: like, whoa, isn't life grand, isn't it just the best?
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