An Almost Perfect Present

Number 5 and 6’s birthday was last week, and one of  Number 5’s gifts was to go to the salon with me for her first mani/pedi.

She has been begging for this for a couple years now, and she is my girliest girl, so I knew she would truly enjoy and appreciate the experience.

Not having my shit together for the past few weeks, I didn’t make an appointment or anything. We just winged it and went to my favorite nail place. I rarely have my nails done, but when I spring for a pedicure, this is the place I go to.

It was 11:30 on Saturday morning, the place was packed, and they had no openings.

I was bummed.

So we got back in the car and headed across the street to a place I’d never been to.

It was a newish place that opened up fairly recently.

They weren’t as busy as my first choice and were able to take us immediately, so we stayed.

Number 5 was so excited. The sheer number of nail polish colors from which to choose had her squealing with delight.

We sat down next to each other.

She felt right at home.

She had a dude doing her nails.  She’s a little shy, and I thought she might not be comfortable with that, but she was happy as could be.

Since she was going to have both her hands and feet done, I splurged and got myself one of the fancier pedicures. I’d have time while she was getting her manicure.

I very rarely get pedicures. This is partially due to the fact that they aren’t really in the budget.

But it’s also because I spend as much of the summer barefoot as possible, and I don’t spend very much time taking care of my feet.

So they’re kind of a disaster. Especially my heels.

If I got one of those baby foot peel treatments, I could  make a seriously satisfying skin peeling video.

So anyway,  the lady started going to town on my heels.

Five minutes in, there was a disgusting (but impressive) accumulation on the towel under my feet.

About the same time, I noticed the TV on the wall in front of us.

They weren’t playing The View or HGTV or any show a woman would stereotypically watch.

Nope.

They were broadcasting a fucking UFC fight.

What the hell?

I hate that shit! And I didn’t really want my 8-year-old daughter watching it during her first ever birthday mani/pedi!

I wanted to say something. But I also didn’t want to be that mom.

So I kept my mouth shut.

It wasn’t long before Number 5 moved to get her manicure.

I had fun watching her enjoy the experience while my technician continued her Cross Fit workout on my feet.

Number 5 seemed so big to me before we walked into the salon, but so small and cute when I watched her from across the room.

We both finished up at about the same time and sat at the dryers for a couple minutes together.

She had a smile from ear to ear.

We left about five minutes later.

As we were walking to the car, I asked her if she had fun.

“YES!!!” she said.

“Except there was just one thing I didn’t like,” she told me.

Fucking UFC fights. 

I was angry that my girl would associate her first ever mani/pedi with anything negative, but especially with that.

“What didn’t you like?” I asked her, knowing full well what her answer would be.

“I didn’t want to look at…

YOUR FEET! THEY WERE SO DISGUSTING, MOM! WHAT WAS ALL THAT GROSS BROWN STUFF THAT CAME OFF OF THEM? IT WAS EMBARRASSING!”

Oh. My. God.

Not the answer I expected.

But on the bright side, regularly scheduled pedicures are now officially justified.

 

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