Pampering

It was tax free weekend in Georgia recently, when many items deemed necessary to begin the school year are sold to weary parents. This means one thing to people without kids: unless it’s necessary to sustain life, you don’t need it. Saturday morning, people were waiting outside in a line for Target to open.

But I did need a pedicure.

Pedicures are not deemed necessary to begin the school year, so they don’t fall into the tax free category. Nevertheless, the place was packed when I arrived. At the door I was greeted as I always am. Tina, a slim Asian woman asked, “Can I help you?”

I haven’t decided if the owners are Korean or Vietnamese. I’ve even googled words I’ve remembered from some of the plaques I’ve seen hanging in the store. That leans toward Vietnam. However, someone I know who also gets her nails done there says they are Korean. One day I will just ask, but it’s kind of an odd thing to bring up in the limited conversation I typically have with them. “Yes, spa pedicure… Yes, manicure. No eyebrow wax today. French on the toes, American on the hands.” It doesn’t seem graceful to then ask, “Are you Korean?”

For those unfamiliar with the jargon, a French manicure is a purely American invention. It means that you apply white varnish at the tip of the nail and a natural colored varnish over the rest. The American version is the same, except the shade of the white varnish is softer, which looks more natural. I like putting the American shade on my hands and the French on my toes.

A spa pedicure entitles you to step into the magical world of “The Swan,” a massage chair with a whirlpool basin at the bottom. Tina dumps a scoop of blue powder in it, fills it with water and sets the jets in motion as you ease back in the chair and dial it to “ecstacy.” The Swan is more relaxing than my last few dates were and demands no small talk. I think at twenty five bucks, it’s a bargain.

A delicate balance is required however, because to speed customers through the experience, often two people work you over at one time. And when two people are attacking your body at one time, with lotions, oils or sharp utensils, keeping up with them takes practice. Tina taps your leg when she wants your foot out of the water. Steven taps your arm when you need to hold your hands up. Then your nails will be shaped, the cuticles pushed back and snipped. Envision a puppet on strings -- left arm up, right arm down, left foot down, right foot up! One hand at a time, please!

A young girl, no more than ten years old, sat in the Swan next to me. Two other teens, clearly her sisters, were also getting their nails done, but she was getting a pedicure. I watched as a first layer of juicy jungle green outlined the tip of her nails, followed by neon pink fill. The result was unmistakable, though probably unintended.

She had watermelon slices on her toes. “They look really great,” I told her with as much admiration as I could muster. Her face lit up. To my right, a younger girl had climbed into the empty swan next to her grandmother, who was getting her own pedicure. Someone had painted her toes in a pink with sparkles, and she was being careful not to touch it while it dried. But she sat in the Swan cross-legged, with the poise of a miniature Indian maiden. “That is such a pretty pink,” I told her. She smiled happily, but she did not need my assurances. Every muscle in her body said she knew she was gorgeous.

But the real beauty of the day was Mama Rose. She had heard all she could handle of our trips to Super Nails. She wanted to find out firsthand what it was like to be pampered. I believe her first encounter with the massage chair hooked her. The first time I looked over, her face was scrunched up tightly as the magic fingers “worked out a kink.” The next time I looked over, she was slumped in her chair.

Asleep. Dead to the world.

You may be a guy reading this right now, wondering why you should care. You know, I’m not the poster child for pampering. I only discovered the spa pedicure a few years ago. But it taught me something. There’s nothing selfish about taking care of yourself. When you feel good, you project your best self. When you’re not lost in your own insecurities, you’re present for others, and your thoughts are more positive. Besides, if you’re hung up on the idea of doing for others, how about having some pretty feet when you slip on those ugly old flip flops for the family pool party, guys? When you’re at your best, it tells your partner that you think they’re worth a little effort on your part, and that’s not selfish at all.

Think about it, gentlemen. The Swan is calling you.

--Laura