Everyone who gets to know me personally knows that I don’t exactly follow the socially approved format of the typical female. I hate clothes shopping. I own 7 pairs of shoes, and 2 of them are different types of tennis shoes. Given a choice, my ideal gift is something useful like a vacuum or a shiny new kitchen knife. I feel like most social constructs for romance are absolute crap. I cherish the thought of carrying on a long conversation by telephone like I would a full frontal lobotomy with a spork. You get the idea.
And yet? I own more hair care items than I do authentic jewelry (except a curling iron because I make those just fine on my own, thank you very much). I wax pretty much everything but my legs. (Yes, that too.) I make and use my own salt glows, sugar scrubs, bath bombs, fizzy salts, and foot baths. And while you will seldom see me with painted fingernails, you’ll never see me barefoot without a pedicure. And despite all apparent evidence to the contrary, I still manage to be showered, coiffed, made up and out the door in about 40 minutes. Walking dichotomy right here, folks.
I like to be pampered now and then, but spas are quite expensive, and the practitioners? Man, some of them are either pretentious assholes who aren’t as good at their trade as they seem to believe (unlike me – I am every bit as good at my trade as I advertise, references on request), or they’re just genuinely bad. I once had a deep tissue massage that left visible hand print bruises on me, and I paid for another that was so timid she tickled me most of the hour. I haven’t had a salon pedicure in 4 years, and a manicure in about 10. Around the time of the last pedicure, I realized that they kind of sucked at the whole spa experience portion and if I was being honest with myself, they weren’t very good at the painting portion either. That last time, I asked her to skip the massage about 10 seconds into it because it felt like talons were trying to rend flesh from bone and almost kicked her in the face before she got the hint, and then I got the judgmental inquisition.
“Why you not want massage?”
“Because you’re really not very good at it. A massage shouldn’t hurt.”
She left my feet to soak a minute as she gossiped in her native language with her judgy-eyed coworker. Wait, did the coworker just ROLL HER EYES AT ME?!? Oh, HELL no! I’m pretty sure there’s enough water left in this foot bath to hold you both under if I’m properly accounting for water displacement.
“You pick nail color now.”
“French so boring! You pick exciting color!”
“Nope. French, please.”
“But you man like sassy color!”
“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care, and I don’t want to look at discount hooker red every time I see my toes.”
And then the kicker:
“FINE! You at least wax lip for him.”
Well, I’m blonde and fair skinned, so now the bitch is obviously just insulting me.
*Pointing at her and her coworker* “Only if you two go first.”
Screw day spas and nail salons. I’ve never been asked to leave my living room for sitting around in my underwear with a bottle of wine, slurring drunken insults at my nail technician for painting my nails crooked. Although I have been asked by the local police to shut my blinds while I do it… Still classier than Paradise Nails.