You know when you were a kid and your mom yelled at you for pulling your sister’s hair?
You knew better but did it anyway. There’s no way of “accidentally” pulling your sister’s hair.
You know after years into adulthood, you get the lecture by the dental hygienist for not flossing well enough?
You’re ashamed because you remembered to floss but you’re also a lazy ass and don’t want to get out of the warm bed and walk on the cold tile floor.
Shame on you.
The index finger shake. The shame shake. The you-knew-better shake.
You know when you’re driving along the road and you think to yourself, ‘I haven’t had a pedicure in a long time. I’m going to treat myself to a pedicure while the kids are at school.’ Good. You deserve it. Sometimes you need to do something for yourself.
I have two daughters. Two daughters that love expensive pedicures. I felt no shame sneaking in a pedicure while my daughters were at school. I was saving money by only paying for myself instead of three full pedicures.
“Do You Lilac It?” by OPI was my color choice. Why, yes I do lilac it. I lilac sitting alone, scrolling my phone, people watching, and reading a book. I found great comfort soaking my feet in hot water while my girls were staring at multiplication flashcards and running a mile in middle school P.E.
School is good for them. I graduated school. I deserved a pedicure alone.
What the hell.
I put down my book and looked down at the nail tech. She was using her tiny scoop to dig out the sides of my toenail, where the nail meets the skin.
Hm, that’s weird. She tapped the top of my foot. That’s never happened…
Tap. Tap. Tap.
White piles of toe gunk fell from her scoop and rested on top of my foot. I pulled out my phone.
She’s placing the gunk on my foot. Why isn’t she using a towel like everyone else? She’s piling my toe gunk on top of my foot.
My mouth dropped. I looked around the room. No one had white toe gunk in tiny piles on top of their feet. I opened the camera app on my phone and slid the viewer to video. I pushed record and held the phone at a slight angle. I spread my fingers apart on the screen and zoomed.
“Nasty toes. You see this? You nasty toes.”
There it was.
Shame on me.
The index finger point.
I’ve been getting pedicures long enough to know she was showing me I didn’t get enough pedicures. She placed my toe gunk there for all to see.
She tapped my foot with her hand. Code for, “put your foot back in the water.” I waited a second to see if she would wipe the gunk off my foot with her towel. She did not. I closed my eyes and slid my foot back into the water. I could feel the toe gunk release and float up. I wished I was holding up multiplication flash cards for my daughter. I wished I was running a mile with my other daughter. I wished for anywhere but here.
I opened my eyes, saved the video, and closed my phone down. I lifted my right foot.
She shoveled my toe gunk out again.
“See that? You need to keep coming.”
I knew it. She was trying to sell me more pedicures in an odd sales pitch including white toe gunk placed on top of my foot.
Shame on me.
I got a pedicure without my two expensive daughters.
And don’t forget to buy my book, “But Did You Die?”