Last weekend, my mom and sister drove down to see me. They were actually coming to pick up some of our old baby stuff (boo hoo...no more babies for me!) because my sister is pregnant (woo hoo) and starting an in-home daycare so we unloaded as much stuff as we possibly could without shortchanging our own babies. It was to be a short trip, so we decided not to try to cram in a bunch of activities in the one full day they were here. We thought a "Day of Beauty" would be a great way to pass the time and be together. We agreed no makeup would be worn all day Saturday (not abnormal for my sister and I, almost unheard of for my mother, who wouldn't be caught dead at the local grocery store or even lying on her own couch sans makeup). I made us pedicure appointments for 10:30 that morning. Mom's treat. I never get pedicures anymore and I think this is possibly the only thing missing in my life. There is just something about sitting in a spa chair with someone at your feet, massaging and moisturizing, that makes you feel like royalty. I must say, I felt a little less royal when the poor boy doing my pedicure had to work like a sled dog to clean my feet. Jeez, I had no idea what a filthy person I was. I had black toenail polish on when I got there and I told him I didn't want any polish. "Just clean them up and try to get some of that icky yellow off." He said "I do best I can, but that black polish make them very yellow." Yeah, I got it. I knew getting the yellow stain off might take some work. What I didn't consider was that black polish conceals dirt very well. And apparently, I'm very dirty. I don't know where I have been lately to get this much junk under my toenails, but this poor guy cleaned under my nails and buffed them for well past what can be considered normal cleaning time for a pedicure. In fact, my sister was already being sanded by the time he finished. I was embarrassed.
But then I looked over at Mom, who was one heel callous away from having the Black & Decker sander brought out. That lessened my embarrassment. In fact, my sister was mid-manicure and I was relaxing in the spa chair with freshly cleaned, white toes when they finally got to the point where they could paint Mom's toes. Mom wanted to match her fingernails, which she has done in Oklahoma. They knew the color. It's called "Smokin' in Havana" but they called it "Smokin' Hot Havana." And, according to the shop owner, it's a color that "They have for like five, six years, but nobody wear." I'm not sure why this was such an important point, but they told us several times. All of the workers were spinning in circles, repeating these words "She want Smokin' Hot Havana...we have it, but don't use it." And the girl trying to open the bottle made a very obvious show of how difficult it was to open. I'm not sure if toenail polish colors go out of style, but if it does, "Smokin' Hot Havana" is apparently, 'out' in Texas. They had to use polish remover, alcohol, and finally, brute force to get the bottle open. I couldn't even look at my mother without laughing. I think the fact that most of the nail shops in our area are owned by Asians is part of the hilarity. Not because I'm a bigot who thinks Asians are, by nature, funny. No, it's because the whole time you sit there, they speak to one another in their native tongue. As they should. But you just know they are discussing the huge, filthy American who took 30 extra minutes just for cleaning. Or the Oklahoman who wears completely outdated polish. I wish I had taken pictures, but I knew Mom would rather die than have her picture posted on the Internet with no makeup.
My sister is the only one who sat there, completely normally clean, not asking for weird, old-fashioned polish. (For the record, Mom, your polish is gorgeous and perfectly "in," so don't worry.) So, because I'm a bratty, attention-hogging first-born, who can't stand it when the baby gets to shine, here's her dirty ear wax.
After all, what's a Day of Beauty without a little ear-candling? I didn't fall for it, but my sister did. Actually, she jumped on it. Mom had these ear candles in her bag and offered to flame the dirt out of our ears. Apparently, she bought them to use on her boyfriend (you didn't think she wore Smokin' Hot Havana for her health, did you?) and he was a bit apprehensive. I can't imagine why.
I mean, what's odd about burning an open flame above your hair in order to vacuum out ear wax? I can't think of a thing that could go wrong here.
Actually, nothing did go wrong. My sister's equilibrium is fine. (Well, as fine as it ever was. We are notoriously clumsy for girls.) And we are all fresh-footed, hair-conditioned, and face-purified. It was a wonderful weekend. Because, besides all of the pampering and self-beautifying, we had some really great, much-needed chats.
That's what I love about being a girl. Chatting and getting pretty.
Mom and La-La, I miss you already! Come back soon!!!