The Slightly Inappropriate Gohjus Preddy Boody Nail Suhlon

Before last summer, I could count on one hand the number of pedicures that I've had in my life.  They were an extreme luxury, and, frankly, not a lot of people I knew got them...unless it was for a special occasion.

And now it seems that bi-monthly pedis are worked into family budgets like the H2O bill. 

Works for me.

Because I'm addicted.  My toes actually begin to scream at me if too many days go by before they are plunged back down into the swirly waters of the leather massage chairs at my local nail salon.  Just walking in the door of the establishment and smelling the thick fog of ammonia is like crack.  I have arrived at podiatrical nirvana.

If you live in my area, then you are going to know the salon of which I speak, but I think I'm safe in that none of you are their first cousins or anything...so I shall proceed...

At the first of this week, my last go-round with a spunky pinky color and blingified black flowers on my big toes had started to chip and crack.  And my cuticles were craving cleanage.  It was time.

I chose an afternoon that I was childless, because achieving foot nirvana is slightly more difficult if I'm having to break up a fist fight while a sharp metal object is being wielded in the direction of my pinkie toe.  I entered the door of the salon and was greeted with:

"Hedoe.  May I hep you?"

"I need a pedicure, please."

"OK.  You sit dare."  And I was ushered to the only empty chair in a line of other women achieving foot nirvana.

I removed my flipflops and settled myself down into the chair.  The release of tension in my toes was already letting up.

Until.

He started touching me.

Um...excuse me.  I think there is a mistake.  This person touching my legs and feet is young enough to be my offspring. 

You see, I'm used to the ladies doing my nails.  Or the older gentlemen.  It's their job, right?  But a 14 year old teenager rubbing scrubbing salts and massage oil on my legs made me feel slightly uncomfortable.

Like gripping the armrests of my chair uncomfortable.
And I was looking for the police.  Because something about the whole deal made me feel slightly felonious.

I totally get that training for taking over the family business is necessary...but I'm thinking that training on my legs and feet is not okay.  Surely there are mannequins or something...at least until you are of legal voting age.

I did leave with pretty toes. 

But it wasn't the therapy that I needed.  In fact, I left more stressed about the condition of my feet than when I went in.

And from now on, I will make it a point to only go in the mornings...when surely Mr. Fourteen Year Old Foot Fixer is at school.

Oh. Shoot.  It's almost summer.

Time to find a new Gohjus Preddy Boody Nail Suhlon.



UPDATE***  My good buddy Whimzie hooked me up with this link...and I'm so glad that she did!  I totally forgot about this chick.  LOVE HER.