I was getting what was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill pedicure recently and long story short, I got intimate with a massage chair.
The whole whirlwind romance almost didn’t happen. I had never had a manicure/pedicure at this salon, so I was just meeting the nail tech, Jackie. Naturally I told her my entire life story and all fingernail and toenail related experiences, just to catch her up to speed. The fact that I got my first manicure when I was 40. My daughter’s criticism that I have an unhealthy attachment to the same shade of sheer, pale pink polish. My friend Robin’s infection-for-life from going to a bad salon in Florida. That time I got Black Plum on my toenails and wore it with orange sandals and it worked; it worked so hard. My disappointment in my last mani-pedi, in which the nail tech complained that I wasn’t “holding my hands right” until I seriously thought she was going to slap them with a ruler. And, of course, the time I went to a salon in Dallas for a simple pedicure and ended up getting an unsolicited neck massage from a creepy, small man.
“And, you know, I don’t let just anyone massage my neck,” I told Jackie. She needed to know this about me. “I have enough back and neck issues. I just don’t want some stranger creeping up on me touching me. I mean, seriously, dude, hashtag me too. Just paint my toenails and let me get the hell out of here.” [Read more…] about There Was This Massage Chair