First of all. . .

I have two blogs in my brain tonight--but neither go with the other. . .so here's the first.

I wrote to my friend Sarah earlier today to tell her of my impending pedicure after school. I have a co-teacher who likes me. She likes me so well that she bought me a pedicure for Christmas. I was ready to go today, so I made my appointment last night. Now I've only had ONE professional pedicure in my life time, and that was when Victoria was just a few months old--another Christmas present. Seeing as how I had never before had a pedicure, lots of friends told me about the sheer luxury I was about to encounter--especially the leg massage. I was very concerned about making a good impression on the pedicurist, so I shaved my legs during my shower that morning in order for them to be silky smooth.

Big mistake.

No one informed me, during all of their exhaultations, that some lady would be rubbing my freshly shorn legs with peppermint exfoliating scrub. I just about came out of the vibrating massage chair. . .but being a newby to pedicures figured that would be bad form. So I sat there and took it--and wasted a perfectly good massage.

With that 7 year old memory still VERY fresh in my brain, I proceeded to live by Sarah's grandmother's axiom, "If only one of us can be happy, it may as well be me." (For more on Maxine, go to Sarah's blog via her comments--not sure how to give you the link here yet.)
My legs were day old stubbley this afternoon as I left for my pedicure. (Maxine, by the way, would never have had a pedicure with stubbley legs.) The little Vietnamese lady would just have to deal with it. . .I was QUITE sure she'd seen worse than me.

Well, the ENTIRE time she was giving me the pedicure--she was speaking to another gal who was giving me a manicure (I sprung for that) in Vietnamese. I imagined they were discussing either my very hairy legs or my incredibly scaly feet. Those imaginings were fueled not once, but twice, by the pedicurist commenting on my arm hair (my brother used to refer to me as the Hairy Beast) and my eyebrows (which, by the way, Maxine told me on more than one occasion that she was intensely jealous of --or, now that I come to think about it, maybe she commented on my "gorgeous eyebrows" in order to draw my attention to how bushy they are.) Below are the conversations I had with my most recent pedicurist. . .

"You have lot arm hairs. You want me wax your arms?"

"No ma'am."

"Very hairy."

"Yes ma'am. I just have lots of hair. I have lots of hair on my head to." (I REALLY do.)

"Hair on head good. Hair on body, not so good."

Five minutes later. . .

"You want me wax your eyebrows?"

"No ma'am. I'm fine with those too."

Some head shaking as she used a scrubbing stone on my heels.

Now either she was just trying to sell her talents in the waxing department, or she was trying to usher me into a much needed state of hairless existence--one which I am most unwilling to keep up seeing as how it doesn't bother my husband. . .and I'm not a big fan of pain

So I was completely paranoid the entire time about my stubbley legs--and laughing at what a big kick Tony would get out of her comments regarding my arms and eyebrows. This time the massage wasn't totally wasted--and I have some lovely red toenails to boot. But next time in addition to stubbley legs, I'm going to have to take a tougher skin too. (And not just on my feet.)