More than a moon ago, Sassy treated me to a pedicure.
She was feeling generous and doting to Mimom, so we got ‘gels’ on our toes.
My goodness, they were so shiny. I marveled at them a month later, so shiny, no chips. That was in the shower. In the harsh sunlight, looked a lil worse for wear, and I thought I should probably add toes to my Sunday Night Beauty Control Ritual.
Sundays passed. I’m a busy woman.
Sassy had an event to go to, and she had this elegant dress with the beading and the cut-outs and the shine of chiffon. Sort of a berry-garnet kinda color. With which she wore silver and rhinestone sandals, all so ladylike and lovely — down to her BRIGHT CRAYOLA YELLOW toenails. Because, gel polish does not swipe off with acetone like other polish.
I DID NOT KNOW THIS.
Some Googling later, I was at my child’s feet with foil and acetone and cotton, per the YouTube tutorial. Fail. Nope. No go. Off she went to dance, gorgeous from her head to her metatarsals.
So last weekend, we got up EARLY on a bleedin Saturday, to get into the salon and fix our toenails. Ugh. We went to a nearby place which will probably be my place now. (We’ve been to many places since we moved ‘home’ and we no likey any til now.)
The salon ladies put us in the
motion sickness chairs massage recliners and liberally poured the acetone over our toesies and covered them with enough cotton to dam a creek. Then they drowned the cotton in more acetone, wrapped our feet in foil, and left us there to watch a series of cooking shows where people were not Italian. We shared tongue-clucks and snarled lips. The ladies came back and unwrapped our foils, revealing cracked, melted gels and the ashiest feet you’ve ever seen. Then they blasted us with a Dremel tool and lubricated our skin. NO GEL. At one point, I turned to Sassy to exclaim about the horror of mixing whipped cream cheese with jarred gravy and she was not there and I shouted, “Where’s the baby?!” how I do.
This made the salon ladies laugh, because probably all moms of every language and culture know the blanched panic face and darting eyes expression of “Where’s the baby?!” I’m sure it’s universal.
Fortunately, the baby was already seated at a dryer.