Yesterday I went into my neighborhood nail salon to get a pedicure. It is the one luxury I afford myself during summertime because I like to see pretty toes at the ends of my sandals. First they fill the foot bath with this amazing smelling foot softener. As I lower my feet I wish I could immerse my whole body. I let out a big, “Ahhhh,” then sit in the cushy chair. This is no ordinary chair, this chair vibrates, on different speeds, for as long as the pedicure lasts. You can have strong fingers massaging your back or rollers that start at your neck and make their way down to that little, or in my case, big knot at the base of my spine, kneading much like you would knead bread dough, from here to there in all directions. Need I say more? This is almost better than sex....almost.
At the same time I am thoroughly enjoying this sensual pleasure, something is going on around me that is very hard to ignore. The patrons in this establishment do not appear to be speaking. The only sounds one can hear are coming from the people giving the manicures or pedicures. They are not loud, but they are high pitched and sometimes sound like nails on a chalk board. They are speaking a language only known to themselves and I believe they really like it this way. No one but they know what they are saying, but I'm pretty sure some of it isn't nice. Once in a while they let out a hearty laugh, leaving me to my imagination about the conversation. It probably goes something like, “Boy get a load of her feet. Can you believe they make shoes this big?” After all these people look no bigger than sixth graders and wear obscene sizes like 0 or 1.
As my pedicure is winding down, Kim, the girl working on my feet looks at me and says, “You look nice today. I told my friend over there that you have on a pretty sundress.” Uh, “thank you”, I say. So not only do they speak English, but they cover up what they're really saying by handing out compliments. I know that I'll keep going back though. Those chairs rock.
© Christine Geery 2010