All week, I have been complaining about needing a pedicure, since two nails have overgrown and are starting to hurt. Yes, I could cut them myself, but when I paint them myself, they look like a kindergartner painted them, and with her non-dominant hand.
My daughter has acrylic nails, and has broken two, so she insisted that it’s time to get nails done. I had my fingers done over the weekend, so it is only my toes that need doing. Apparently, one of her friends needs her nails done, too. So it’s a group effort.
I arrived just when I thought I would. I stopped at Starbucks first, then walked into the nail place. “Pick your color.” I chose hot pink to match the glitter color that caught my eye. I always choose glitter. With glitter on your toes, no one notices the chips, so the pedicure lasts longer. Plus, it’s glitter.
I use the restroom, because, as my friends have told me, much of my life revolves around my bladder. I settled into the massaging pedicure chair and turned the chair on and put my feet in the water. I don’t mind waiting while the massage is going and my feet are in the whirlpool.
The guy doing my pedicure was left handed, and a perfectionist. I felt all backwards since he started from the other side. He checked for rough spots thoroughly and almost killed me tickling me with the pumice stone.
We waited for all of us to finish, then went to lunch. I took a kid to work, then went to the library to pick up my holds.
I got home and did a few tasks and napped before class.
I got to acrylic painting class. I had figured out that I can listen to audiobooks while painting, so I started up my current one and started painting. I was laughing, hopefully quietly. One of my classmates is a big reader, so I wandered over to recommend the book to her. I got another recommendation and an offer to borrow a book. I expect to be reading the borrowed book by this time next week.