I Spent My Life Savings on a Pedicure

The weather’s warming up here, which means those crusty feet you’ve been hiding under socks all winter are comin’ out to play.  Which consequently means nail salons are getting a barrage of new and returning clients.

This of course includes me (as much as I’d like to think my feet look more like this):

There’s a great salon just down the road from my house that has decent prices and if you listen hard enough you can almost understand what the technicians are asking you.  For anyone who’s ever received a pedicure at any point in their life, you know exactly what I mean.  Though the overall health and safety of a nail salon is mysterious, at best (a friend of mine was nicked by a cuticle cutter and it bled for a solid 10 minutes while the lady kept trying to apply super glue to stop the cut), we still go.  Something about the ability to shred cheese on your heels turns us into anxiety-filled crazies.  MUST. FIX. NOW.

The problem with pedicures though is all of it.  I am so ticklish that the moment the lady starts in on the buffer I start moaning and laughing and physically clamping down on my leg to keep from kicking her square in the nose.  Then there’s the issue of the clippers and cuticle pusher things.  I have this fear that they’ll start in and accidentally flip my nail up (gross, so sorry…I sincerely hope you were not eating while reading that).  And then, despite the “massage” chair (which is more like someone thumping me on the back to get up a pretzel I accidentally swallowed), I can’t relax until the torture is through and the only thing being done is the layering on of polish.  Plus, my toes are like little sausages and they never even fit into those foam spreaders (enter in smeared polish…why do I even go).

I suppose all of that is fine, if you can close your eyes and imagine you’re on a tropical island with an extremely potent pina colada.  But the one thing that I can’t get past no matter how many times I’m duped into it and how many times I convince myself I’ll stand my ground, is the “upgrades.”

Nail salon employees would make EXCELLENT drug pushers.  My god, if they had a bag of heroine, I’d have OD’d years ago.

They start small:

“You want a pedicure? Ok. Pick out your color. Sit here. Put your feet in the water.”  

*Lifts my leg, begins to dab water away and soak cotton ball with polish remover*

“You want spa pedicure?”

“Uh, I, uh, is that a regular one?”

“Spa pedicure better.  Good for you.  Gets dry skin off.  Only $5 more.”

“Oh, um, sure.”

*Begins to slough off barnacles clinging to my feet*

“You want Hawaiian treatment?”

“Uh, I don’t know, what is that?” 

“It’s better.  Good for your skin.  Makes soft.  Only $5 more.”

“Oh, I don’t know, um…”

“It’s really good.  You look like you need it.”

“Uh, sure.  Ok.”

*Finalizes polish coat*

“Ok, you pay now. $60.”


You see?  Swap out the emery boards for some meth, and BAM!  We’ve got ourselves a new Law & Order episode.

Pedi-cures?  More like pedi-diseases (hands down the worst joke I’ve ever made in my life…you’re welcome).

*Drops mic*


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