Mortification or Humiliation?

Thanks for linking up with Medical Mondays! I am sad it is over, but so happy to have a group of ladies I feel honored to call my friends. And this is the kind of post one can only share with friends.

How did I start out my week of grounding? By getting a massage, a pedicure and a manicure all from licensed professionals! In the past I have written about my longing for a massage, and my husbands failed attempts at painting nails. (I still can't believe hands that operate in tiny spaces can't get nail polish on just the nails.)

Anyway it was a lovely day. It was a Saturday and the husband was home and offered to watch the kids so I could use my generous valentine's day present of pampering. I showered and shaved and looked and smelled good. The weather was warm (how strange) so I wore a pair of flip-flops I had purchased at the end of summer last year because I felt that I had graduated from the $1 Old Navy Flip Flop sale and was ready for more stylish flops in the $7 dollar range.

I started with the mani/pedi. I didn't have an appointment but they didn't look busy and welcome walk-ins. I had my gift certificate in hand and asked for my services but they didn't have prices listed anywhere so I had no idea what my husband had in mind for me. It had been so long since I had a mani/pedi that I didn't know what they cost anymore. Or what the different types were, so I went regular.

I had the mani/pedi and it was all fine. My last manicure was so long ago I cannot remember, and the last pedicure I received was the week or two before my last baby was born almost two years ago. I am sure there was plenty of work to be done on my digits, all twenty of them.

The place I was at spoke English, but that didn't mean that they spoke English to me. In fact it felt really strange. I think they forgot me at one point or I blended in with the walls and they couldn't see me. I was pretty sure my nails were all dry and there wasn't a clock on the wall and my watch and phone were in my purse so I couldn't see what time it was, but I knew that I had an appointment for a massage that I wasn't going to be late for.

So I tried getting out of the chair myself. They did the mani/pedi in the same chair. That was convenient except for the fact that there was no one to talk to, nothing to watch on tv (or rather there was something to watch if you don't mind Saturday afternoon PBS without the sound), and nothing to do because my nails were wet and my phone was in the purse. When I tried getting out they asked if I was ready to go. Why yes, I think I am done. I wonder how long they would have let me sit in that chair before suggesting I leave? I am guessing hours, or until they needed the chair for someone else.

At the register I am given the total for my mani/pedi and discover that I still have $20 left on the gift certificate. I guess that means I get to go back! I was excited about that prospect, but not delusional enough to think I would actually get back anytime soon.

I leave and put my watch back on only to realize that I had more time than I thought so I head to the drug store to buy the color of nail polish that was currently on my nails. I choose Wet and Wild for $1.99 in fast dry formula. That's me!

Then it's off to the massage. Lovely, amazing, wish I could go every week. What more can I say about that. Amazing.

Then I get home and discover something that leaves me mortified and/or humiliated. The cute black flip flops I had been wearing have discolored my feet. What I do not know is if they became discolored from the moment I put them on my feet, or if after the pedi or massage they turned colors. But the bottom of my feet looked as if I had been running around on the black asphalt all afternoon. Technically in three hours those flip flops had only been on my feet for 40 minutes top. And most of that time was sitting in the car or waiting room. Not walking.

In my mind I start replaying the day. The lady who did my pedicure thought I was filthy dirty and is that why she wore latex gloves? Oh my goodness the lady who did my massage saw my feet too! Did she touch them? I don't remember. I don't think she did. I don't blame her, I wouldn't have either. At least three people have seen my feet, and they probably told all their co-workers about me. The massage place has my name, did they make a little note on my file about my feet!? The mani/pedi ladies were probably snickering about my feet to each other in their foreign language!

So now I may never get another mani/pedi or massage at these locations again. It is possible that I will forever be remembered as the lady with dirty black feet. Thank heavens I am moving in 4 months and will never see them again. But I have learned my lesson. My trusty Old Navy $1 flip-flops have never left my feet black and my $7 flip flops are going in the garbage - they betrayed me!

Oh, what a week it was!