I've had plenty of manicures in the last few years, but I was a virgin when it came to pedicures. This is because I was embarrassed with the idea of a stranger having to cut my toenails and scrub the dead skin off my feet. I know I wouldn't want to do it for somebody else. But when Erica invited me to go along with her and Anne and Chantel, it sounded like a party I wouldn't want to miss.
When we entered the shop, the owner, a Vietnamese woman (what is it with the Vietnamese and nail parlors?) called out "Hello Mom!" to me. She had obviously been warned that the old lady was coming along.
We were encouraged to have "French nails," which I don't particularly like on toenails, but I succumbed to social pressure. My pedicurist and I had much in common: I was a virgin having my first pedicure and she was a virgin at giving her first pedicure. The white line was uneven and looked scalloped, although you can't tell this from the photograph. I thought the white line made my toes look like they still needed to be trimmed.
"Make her fix it!" Chantel said in a stage whisper.
"No, I'm Dutch and don't deserve to have it fixed," I said, and tipped the young woman my usual twenty percent, smiling like a satisfied customer.
Then I went to the store, bought some white nail polish and tried to fix the paint job, but made it worse by putting on my shoe before the paint was dry. I tried taking it off with polish remover but it's on there like cement. In the end, the paint job didn't matter. I just enjoyed the company.
In the evening, we went with Sam and Sarah and the boys to watch the Bees play, followed by some terrific fireworks. The Bees lost, Elliot was frightened by the noise and Louis slept through the whole thing.
I'd like to bottle this summer. It's so perfect.