Flower Power

Isn't it amazing what we women will subject ourselves to for the sake of looking pretty?

We rip the hair out of our legs with inquisition-like torture devices...

We yank out our spare eyebrow hairs with scalding hot wax...

We grind our nail beds down to paper-thin remnants to afford us the luxury of acrylic nails...






And.... while we do all of this, we subject ourselves to a sense of culture shock while sitting in the local nail salon.

Now, my intention here is not to offend anyone with this post, but rather, make light of a situation that any of us who patronize the local nail salon deal with; the culture and language barrier.

Many times I have sat in my chair at the salon and have listened to the technicians as they speak among themselves in their native language. Sometimes, the tone is harsh, other times it is hushed... but often, more than not, there is laughter involved.

When there is that occasional giggle while someone if hefting my tree-stump of a calf over their shoulder so they can remove the callouses from my Shrek-like feet, I can't help but wonder if I am the butt of their joke.


I try to just let it go... smile and gauge my tip-o-meter based on my level of comfort and how much I believe I am NOT the source of their giggles.

Back in the mid-90's, when getting a pedicure in the local nail salon was gaining in popularity, several of the women in my neighborhood, including myself, were being treated to the luxury of a pedi every now and then. Nothing makes one feel better than to have  pretty toes...something our men appreciated.

Nail art was becoming all the craze, but us ladies weren't about to spent $3 of our men's hard-earned money on such frivolity. One neighbor and I joined forces to learn how to paint those pretty flowers on our nails ourselves.

We studied diligently next time we got a pedicure ... watching the flower-painting technique we would soon master. We ran off to the local drug store for all the necessary supplies: white polish, toothpicks, top coat, polish remover, etc.

We practiced painting flowers on each other's toes as we sat in the back yard, lemonade in hand. We were so proud of ourselves as we practiced the technique of applying little drops of polish and dragging the end of the toothpick through the drops to form little flower petals. We became flower artists!!!

That summer, as we neared the date for our annual rivier trip with our hubbies, kids, and boats all in tow, we planned to get a pedicure and treat each other to flower art...saving $6 at the salon, which would be happily inserted into the nearest nickel slots at the river.

I made an appointment at a new salon that had just opened in the mall. The salon had all of the newest equipment, new pedicure chairs that massaged you into submissive pedi-bliss, skillfully trained technicians with names I could pronounce, and a rainbow of nail polish to choose from.

As I sat back in my massaging, vibrating chair, I was fully relaxed. So relaxed that I didn't even notice the chatter that I couldn't comprehend. I was pleased to be spending a little pamper time on myself, and was looking forward to getting my flowers painted by my friend later in the day. I was oblivious to everything else going on around me.

I had selected a beautiful hot pink polish for my toes, perfect for the river and a color that would be sure to compliment my soon-to-be-acquired sunburn, and settled in for the painting to commence.
As the technician began painting my toes, she asked me,
"You want flowas on you toes?"
"No, thank you", I replied.
"You sure, you no want no flowas on your toes? Is summatiiiime.... you wear dresssss.... look so priteeeeee. I paint nice for youuuuu"
"No, thank you. I'm fine"


And then she said it...............

"You sure you no want flowas on your toes?"
"You know... you get flowas on your toes, you no look so FAT" !!!

Awkward silence... and then giggles...giggles all the way down pedicure lane ...and this time I comprehended the source of the giggles!!!

My tip-o-meter flat-lined. There was no resuscitating it.  Not only did I NOT get "flowas on my toes", but Susie didn't get a tip, either!!!

I was hurt, embarrassed, and highly offended.  I paid my bill, sans tip, and returned home to sulk.






But, now I laugh about it... I have matured enough to joke about it...I accept and love myself for who I am .. fat and all.

Some days, I get flowers on all ten toes and I tell myself that I have nearly disappeared  I am so model-thin .. I am a Flower-Power Ninja; stealthy...thin..invincible !!!

I'm off to go get a pedi...with flowers..Ten of them!!!