Pedi season

With Memorial Day just a few days away, I decided today that it is officially pedicure season. So I walked into CheChiPla -- cheap Chinese place -- and put myself on the list for a pedi.

A few minutes later, I was choosing a color and plopping down on one of the pedi chairs with an amazingly recent magazine. As I rolled my pants up, I realized that it's probably been a couple of days since I've shaved my legs. Oops.

But by this time my feet were already in the swirling water and I was looking forward to seeing how "I'll Always Have Paris" looked on my toes. So I sat there unapologetically and waited for the nail tech (of some Asian persuasion, I can't say for sure she was Chinese) to start talking in a foreign language about my hairy legs and gnarly calloused and cracked feet to the girl next to her.

To my surprise, she didn't seem disgusted or even mildly shocked at the state of my lower extremities. So I sat back, read all about Michael J. Fox's new book, and answered a phone call from my sister as Miss Must-Have-Seen-A-Lot-of-Ooogly-Feet went to work. My relaxation was interrupted by a whiny voice next to me.

"Can you fix that one there? And I need two coats," said a 20-something in the next chair. She was blonde and skinny and had legs that extended up to her armpits, so I knew immediately that I didn't like her. Her nail tech nodded obligingly and started applying a second coat to WB's (whiny blonde's) French manicure, well, pedicure.

A minute or so later, the tech told WB that she was finished.

"Is that two coats?" (Yes, the tech assured.)

"By why does it look so yellow?" To which the tech explained that WB had been wearing red polish and after it's removed it leaves a residual stain that might be a little yellowish. "But can't you add another coat?"

Apparently WB missed the color conversation in kindergarten. Clear is not a color. So you can add 100 coats of clear and the underlying color will still be seen.

"I don't understand why they are so yellow?" Again with the red polish explanation. "But even when all I used to wear was French, they always looked yellow."

By now, I was looking at the supposedly offending yellow. Um, hello, sister. That's not yellow. That's Caucasian. You want to see yellow? You come on over to my house.

"It's just so ugly to have yellow nails," she whined on. Now, let me tell you, the only thing ugly about this girl was her attitude.

Soon enough, WB was drying her toes in the foot dryer and I went back to enjoying my own pedicure. My favorite part was coming up -- the part where they take that razor thing and scrape off all the dead, rough skin. First she put some lotion on my feet. Then had me soak them in the water. Then more lotion. Then she rubbed them with a pumice stone. She put it down and I was almost giddy at the prospect of having all that junk removed from my feet.

Waahhh! She didn't do it. She muttered something, but her accent prevented me from understanding what she said. I think it was "Our sandblaster is in the repair shop, so I can't do anything more for your nasty feet."

All that was left to do was apply two coats of "I'll Always Have Paris," which turned out darker than I expected. So now instead of springy dark purple toenails, I have nails that look almost black. I was going to take a picture, but a) I can't find the cord that connects the camera to the computer and b) some of you might be reading this over breakfast or lunch and a picture of my goth-like toes on feet attached to minorly hairy legs might make you lose your appetite.

But be certain that if you see me any time between now and October 1st, I'll be wearing sandals to show off my pedicured feet.