Last night Tempe and I hit the streets for Mediterranean food. (I’ve had February falafels for the past two years, and I can’t let 2016 bump my streak.) Afterwards, we jumped over to the mall because off-season pedicures are never a bad idea.
The pedicure place was being manned by a woman and a boy child. The woman filled a tub for Tempe. Boy Child filled my tub. Tempe chose a bright green sparkly polish because she’s edgy and brave. I went with a pearlized white because I’m really stressed out about the election, you guys.
I hate talking about feet, so let’s step this up a bit.
Boy Child (weirding me out by massaging my feet after being reprimanded by the woman for not giving me my money’s worth, when I was totally fine without any sort of creepy foot massage): SomethingSomethingBigToe?
Me: I’m sorry?
Boy Child: SomethingSomethingBigToe?
Me: No, no, no.
Boy Child gets up and walks away.
Me: What did he say?
Tempe: I don’t know, but I think he’s mad at you for having such hairy legs.
Boy Child then returned, applied the pearlized white, and then grabbed a black brush and started painting a stripe on my left big toe and DEAR LORD I know this is a story about a pedicure but I really do hate talking about my feet and he just kept painting with the black and then he grabbed opaque white and started drawing something and Tempe and I kept making hilarious and frightened eye contact because What In The Hell Is Happening Right Now? I clearly said No to SomethingSomethingBigToe!
Boy Child: You like it?
Me: Um, YES!
Boy Child: I’ll do the other one.
Me: No. NO! I really think I just want to keep it on one side. Asymmetry!
Boy Child: You don’t like it.
Me: I do! I do!
Before leaving the pedicure place, I purchased a bottle of the pearlized white because that’s what you do when you’ve been given an unexpected sloppy love toe that will need fairly immediate removal and reworking.