Yesterday, I had what I think was a first: a pedicure. I've had a manicure before, and almost always thought what a useless luxury it had been. Yesterday, whether it's because of my age or because my tolerance levels have drastically increased, I actually think that the manicure was worth it, and I know that the pedicure was more than worth what it cost Emily, who was the giver of the joy.
Because I am and always will be a shoe-lover and am and always was vain, I always chose my shoes for their beauty, never for their ability to make me feel good or for their actually conforming to the size of my feet. As a result, and with my prior knowledge and acceptance, my feet are objects of horror. Throw in the fact that this apartment is drier than most of Arizona and you'll know why a pedicure could have been such a delightful experience for me. Unless you count the shame.
I must compliment the woman who undertook the process with such equanimity. Nary a flinch, always a calm demeanor and a firm hand with the scary utensils. The closest she came to losing her cool was when we had this conversation over the manicure:
Me: Those are such elegant glasses!
She: Sorry, what?
Me: The glasses---they're elegant
She: You mean mine?
She: Are you talking about my glasses?
She: And what did you say?
Me: I said, they're elegant
Me: Elegant! they're ELEGANT!
She: Oh, I thought you said UGLY!
Actually, I took it rather hard that she'd think I could have said that. After all, there I was in all my eager-to-pleaseness, having already aplolgized to her for having exposed her to my feet. How could she?
Still it was a great experience made greater by the avocado BLT on a croissant that we got from The Works next door. Altogether, not counting angst and embarrassment, a fine experience for my now scarlet toenails and my ladylike pinkish fingernails.