The pre-spring break build-up started a few weeks ago. I decided to imagine spring break being heralded in by spritely, spring garden gnomes. I probably decided that when I was drunk. Here’s what I think one might look like:
Since I work full-time, there’s no spring break for me. Hubby is home with the boy this week. So I got home today, and hubby told me I should go get a pedicure.
YAY ME! I haven’t had a real pedi for three months, just do-it-yourself, sloppy jobs. I skipped out the door and was on my way to the local nail shop.
When I got there, I noticed my door-lock, key fob thingy wasn’t working. I pushed the lock button and the car made some weird electrical buzzing noise. Super! Okay, it’s a ten-year-old car, so I’ll just lock and unlock manually. Whatever.
I go inside. They call me over to a chair and, *GASP*, I’ve got a male pedicure-ist. This is not part of the HappyFirstDayofSpringBreakRelaxationHour I expected. Look, I’ve got nothing against male pedicure technicians, I just would not personally choose one. It just squeeges me out (I made up that word on my own, feel free to borrow it). But OKAY, whatever. I will find my happy place, I will!
After 45-minutes of a strange man touching my feet, a woman is seated next to me. She immediately whips out her cell phone and makes a call. She yammers on, until I look over. Then she tells the person on the phone, “I’m getting a pedicure, so I should try and be quiet in here.” Um yeah, relaxation wrecking-ball! Does she quiet down. No. She just yammers on at regular volume.
The spring gnomes are pooping all over my hour of relaxation! Damn it, it’s the one day of the week we don’t have some kind of therapy appointment for Connor. And I’m internalizing the stress and anxiety to the point of having allergic reactions and hives. I really, really needed this 60 minutes of me time.
But let me just get out of here. I notice a woman getting a manicure and, her…husband?…is with her. But something wasn’t right. She looked about 15 years older than him, and was decently put together. He, on the other hand, looked like this:
Except the hat was backward and the whole outfit was kelly green. And I wasn’t trying to be Judgy Judgerson. But there he was, flinging unfunny witticisms around at anyone with the misfortune to make eye contact. And I was headed over to the nail dryer station, WHERE HIS WIFE WAS ALREADY SITTING.
Great. I dug out my phone, averted my eyes, and busied myself checking Facebook. But he would not be deterred. He came over and set a can of Red Bull in front of his wife. Then I felt his gaze boring into the side of my head. Waiting. Waiting for me to look up. Nope, not gonna do it. Lots to read about on Facebook.
He decided eye contact wasn’t a real requirement. He says, “I know yer eyeballin’ my wife’s Red Bull, jest waitin’ to grab it. Harharharharhehehe.” This was his way of striking up conversation. Sort of a “Hi there, how are you today,” but not.
Quick glance up, a half-smile, and a haha. Message sent, and received. He moves on. YES!! He starts yammering to one of the nail ladies, and nods toward her client, and says “Take good care-a mah fren here, she’s from the darker side-a mah fam-ly.”
Yeah, he did. He really did. HE DID NOT KNOW THAT LADY, WHO WAS AFRICAN AMERICAN, AND HE BLURTED THAT OUT TO BE FUNNY.
Yeah, I’m out. I couldn’t pay my tab fast enough.
I had to run to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to get a bath mat that my hubby requested. One of those extra cushy kind. I decided to pick up a melon baller while I was there. Someone had a post the other day about melon balls, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t remember who it was. If it was you, let me know, and I will put a linkey thing [here].
So those bastard gnomes brought me no joy on the first day of spring break. The only thing that salvaged it was my new melon baller. Now I need some melon…