Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Plastic Surgery of Sorts
There's nothing quite like the scent of nail polish remover greeting my nostrils as I walk through the door of the nail salon. This is a new nail place - new to me at least. And when I decided to go for it, I knew I was taking a chance, but I was willing to risk it.
You see, after much dread and procrastination, I had finally journeyed to the Sprint store where they surprised me with prompt and efficient service - thus I was left with some time on my hands before going to pick up my son from preschool. I drove through the parking lot of the Super WalMart strip mall knowing there had to be a nail place somewhere near; within a few seconds I had located one. I glanced anxiously in the back seat at Kyla - still sleeping. Typically I'm not one to bring her with me to get my nails done. After one experience wherein she awoke shortly after my pedicure began and I spent the remaining 30 minutes trying to keep my feet still, while simultaneously occupying my daughter in my lap, I was a bit gun shy of bringing her again. Still, my feet were in dire need, and my sanity hung in the balance.
When I sat down to begin the pedicure, I placed my sleeping baby in her car seat right beside the nail technician - an obvious reminder to her to keep the talking to a minimum. She threw out a few typical questions for conversation starters, but I think when I leaned back and closed my eyes she got the hint that I wasn't there for the small talk. I hated to be rude, but I needed a pedicure, and if my baby was awoken the whole experience would be rather unpleasant for all parties involved.
Miraculously, Kyla slept and slept and slept - and I relished my quiet pedicure. The technician was doing a great job all until she got to my heals. She used the pumice stone to scrub them, and then she moved onto the next step. . . without using the heal razor (as I call it). The heal razor was largely the reason I was getting a pedicure - I wanted ALL the dead skin gone. When I voiced my request, she answered: "You no need. There will be blood. Skin soft. There will be blood." My mind went immediately to the title of the recent drama 'There Will Be Blood.' "Oh, well, we don't want that." I answered nervously, and while I didn't want blood, I did want every smidge of dead skin removed! It's sort of an obsession. I'd even be OK with having my toes and heals methodically removed, scoured clean, and then sewn back on. I know - my husband thinks it's neurotic too. Nonetheless, I was forced to make peace with the way my heals were.
The nail lady continued her work while I dozed intermittently and played with the controller for the chair massager. As she wrapped things up, she looked up at me and squinted as she studied my face. "You need eyebrow wax." she commented certainly. I've only ever had one eyebrow wax before, and while I enjoyed it, I felt it'd be best not to get them too often. You see, another phobia of mine is the uber long eyebrow hairs you see on older people - typically in their seventies or eighties. I am convinced that people get long eyebrow hairs in their later years because they regularly overtrim their eyebrows, thus causing them to grow at lightning speed. Then, when they're too old to clearly see what they look like, their eyebrows stage a coup and takeover their face.
Despite my fear of overzealous eyebrow trimming, I decided since my last and only eyebrow trim was over eight months ago, it'd be OK to give it a go again. And so, with a few quick pulls of paper and wax, my eyebrows got a makeover. "You want uppa lip wax too?" the lady asked. "What?" I asked not even believing my ears. An eyebrow wax was one thing, but an upper lip wax?? C'mon! I do NOT, at least at this stage in life, have upper lip hair! How could she even suggest such a thing? I politely declined her rather rude offer.
Hopping off the chair to survey in a mirror the new me, I was confronted by my flaming red brow bones. . really awesome looking eyebrows, but rather understated compared to the cherry red color my brow bone area was taking on. They sort of itched, and I was really hoping this would go away quickly as I needed to be going to pick up Jimmy. "Wow, it's really red" I commented to the nail lady; "You like?" she asked eagerly; "That go way in hour." I hoped so as it was beginning to look like I'd been in some sort skirmish.
While the area where my eyebrows previously had existed was still red, it had toned down some by the time I arrived to pick up Jimmy. I hastily entered the pre-k doors feigning a serious self-image complex by trying to keep my face towards the floor the entire time. I avoided any conversation with his teachers or other parents as I knew I was a sort of walking freak show.
By the time we arrived home and I ran into the bathroom, however, I was pleasantly greeted by my new eyebrows. These weren't just any eyebrows, these were supermodel eyebrows! If my face wasn't the one supporting the remaining hairs above my eyes, I'd surely be working as a model for Cover Girl!
Yes, my money was well spent at the nail place. Just a few tweaks, which even my husband probably won't even notice pays big dividends towards my peace of mind. With my feet quite nearly free of dead skin and my eyebrows now perfectly in place without my even having to lick my finger to paste them down, I feel like a new woman. I wonder what it would feel like to have real plastic surgery when these minor alterations give me such a rush. Regardless, whether I'm considered easily amused, or just plain neurotic, I'm just glad to have a nail place near me - even in Ocala.