Now that we have established I have feet issues, I shall continue the saga of The Pedicure.

I began venturing into nail salons a few months back because I wanted to have my nails done before a speaking thing. I’m a hand talker so the thoughts of waving my boy nails in front of a room full of darlin’ girls with adorable handbags and fresh mani-pedi’s was a little intimidating. I know I’ve harped all about the ‘Beautiful in the Eyes of God‘ thing and yes, I do believe it. But, God is not evaluating/comparing my externals at even a fraction of the energy with which a room full of women use on one another.

Don’t you dare act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.

With that said, I wanted to look as put together as possible. There are many salons in the area and I could have gone anywhere to have my nails done but I’m not a very good appointment girl. You give me a time I have to be somewhere and I’m destined to fail you by at least 5 minutes. Sooo, I went to the Asian Salon because I knew I could walk-in whenever and be finished quickly.

I’m just a free spirit that way.

When I walked in the Salon, my first thought when I saw a room full of women manicurists was, “Oh good, I’ll get a girl.” And then, as is my luck, one of the women shrieked a line of Vietnamese and out from the back room walked a dude. I always wondered how the dudes felt about being manicurists. This day during what was a surprisingly pleasant conversation, I found out. I don’t know this man’s name other than it has 114 syllables. He told me he had been doing nails for almost ten years and hated it but had big dreams with the money he was saving.

He wanted to buy chicken houses.

Let’s see……Have pretty, clean nails or dig chicken poop out from under them. There has got to be some psychological rebellion against the nail industry going on there. Kind of like a preacher’s kid going to the penitentiary. Or you know, something like that.

Jas98e7073wrujwoer9eu8r, or whatever his name was, finished my nails and sent me to the u.v.lamps to cure. It was while sitting there I understood his desire to flee Salon Life forever. For today, he had his own Pedicure Challenge walk through the door.

If the man’s name wasn’t Billy Bob he missed his chance. Billy Bob had on overalls with a wife-beater underneath. And then, to top off the ensemble, he was wearing plaid papaw slippers with plastic soles. As he swaggered in and stood in his 6’3″, 350 lb. glory, he proclaimed:

“I need one of ya’ll to give me a ped-ee-kyor”.

And something in Jdp98q7w34;lknrs’s eyes died right then. I looked at him and he looked at me and we understood one another. Because I had “been there” and had “done that” my instinct was to fake a heart attack while my dude-friend-manicurist fled to the farm. Chicken poop never looked so good.

But I digress – which has necessitated this post become a Trilogy. I shared Part Two to establish that you can get great service in an Asian salon without all the hassles of having to be accountable for your whereabouts at a certain hand on the clock. And you might even make a new friend in the process who is older than twelve and doesn’t wear saddle-oxfords or stare at you longingly while clipping your toe skin.

It gets worse.

But, before I get ahead of myself, it was my confidence in my new friend Jdajsd;friar;gn’aweiort that led me to the salon in Florida where I got the Worst Pedicure ever given in the history of Vietnam.

And I shall conclude……soon.





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