Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Do you paint your toes?
First off, a gratuitous tart picture. This is a rhubarb tart, made with the first of this year's rhubarb. Sliced rhubarb, sugar, cinnamon, and a touch of lemon juice cooked until tender then thickened with ground oats. Spooned into tart shells and topped with crumbs. Baked to bubbly goodness. There is one left. And I am not sharing ;). Alright, I am lying. I don't eat stuff like this. But I'm sure DD will scarf it up when she gets home from school. Now, on to the actual blog. I have never had an actual pedicure. Never. My sister can't stand having bare toes, and goes often. In fact, she has a large collection of open-toed shoes and capri pants invested so now feels pressured to get them done regularly. I have heard her say that she isn't feeling so great because her toenails are chipped and they need to be redone. How can the condition of nail polish on one's toes make a day go wrong? Is it such powerful magic? Ruby the pug LOVES toes in general, but dsis's painted toes make her wild. In fact, if my sister comes over the first thing Rubydoo does is check out her toes. Only once or twice they haven't been painted, and the mutt has been visibly disappointed. She loves sister, but I guess it can't really be her if the tootsies are bare. I am thinking of going, but I'm kind of afraid. Friends for years told me how great manicures were. I was finally convinced to go, even though at the time I had inch long nails that I painted myself. I don't mean mere nail polish, I mean PAINTED. Scenes. Took me four hours per week. Sometimes I had a picture on every nail, sometimes just a few accent nails done. Seasonal things were my favourite. Like a winter picture of a cat in a window that makes you feel like you are peeking into a warm and inviting home. Or Christmas trees and presents, Easter eggs and bunnies, palm trees for spring break, and so on. But I was assured I would not be disappointed and was referred to a certain place where they all went. The first thing the woman did was CLIP OFF MY REAL NAILS. Before I even knew what she was doing, CLIP CLIP CLIP! I pulled my hand away with only the thumbnail, and I was livid. "No No lady, you like you like!" she assured me as she took my hand back and finished off that final nail with a CLIP. Then the other hand. Next was a dremmel type tool that she used to completely ruin the surface of my nail beds. Two coats of something that smelled so chemical and alien I can't even describe it. Then came the nail tips. She put them on with some goop that looked like it was liquid fiberglass - I could see the strands of fiber in it. The woman disappeared for a good while so this stuff could dry. I was beginning to feel very panicky. Before I could plan an escape, she was back. The gunk had glued the tips onto my nails, but it had also stuck to my skin. So she SHOVED HER NAIL in there to free it. It hurt unbelievably bad, and I snatched my hand back. "OUCH! That hurts!". She mumbled something in a language I didn't understand and said "No no lady, you like you like!" again and took my hand back. OUCH! There goes that evil nail shove again. I pulled my hand away and refused to give it back. Manicure is DONE. I paid her ten dollars (one fourth of what it was supposed to cost) and left while several women screamed at me in a foreign language and shook their fists at me. Funny, I don't remember that many people total in that shop, where did they all come from to shout at me? My hands were burning like fire from whatever she had used on my nails and I could hardly breathe. I felt like fumes were coming from my clothes just from being in there. I drove around for a bit, and saw a place where I used to get my hair done. Seeming to remember that they had a nail stand there, I parked and stumbled in. Not sure what I was hoping for, but I was sort of in shock. The receptionist somehow figured out what I was trying to say and called somebody over to look. They didn't do nails anymore, but knew somebody who could help me. I left with an address and instructions to GO RIGHT THERE. And I did. My heart sank when I saw the place. It didn't look that different from where I started off. I was met at the door by a woman with the biggest hair I have ever seen calling my name. I wondered how she knew it was me, but seeing as I was holding my burning hands in front of me like a surgeon trying not to contaminate them before surgery I am sure it was no hard task. She led me to a chair and said "Let me just take a look". She gasped when she saw my red fingers. "Holy SHIT. Okay. We can fix this". The next three hours are kind of a blur. When it was done, my nails looked marvelous. Well, they weren't MY nails anymore, but they still looked nice. My finger tips still hurt, but she assured me they would feel better and better over the next couple of days (and they did). I went back every week for "fix ups" while my own nails grew back. And I swear they didn't grow back the same. No way could I grow them to one inch long again. It's like the nail beds were changed and weekened by the chemicals and the injury. Once my own nails grew down to the edge and I no longer needed any fixing (it took longer than a year), I thanked her gratefully then never went back. While I am sure that this won't happen to my FEET - after all, fake nails on toes hasn't really caught on here - it still makes me leary about going for a pedicure. What if they clip my nails too short? What if they hurt me? What if they DAMAGE me? I am just a scaredy cat, I'll tell you what! But being diabetic, my doctor has suggested taking good care of my feet. Maybe I can convince myself to go ONCE and see what happens. I am sure Rubella would be overjoyed. In other Rube news, this is how I found her a moment ago: It is not odd to find her sulking. In fact, sulking is her favourite method of communicating when she feels we are not doing her justice. You know, when we do such horrible things as have our own lives and not spend every minute catering to her. Pretty much what every girl wants, no? But usually I know WHY she is sulking and this time I do not. With this on my mind I went upstairs to gather some laundry, when I found this in the hallway: Toy Henge. I am sure it was due to the flash, but this picture did not capture the sunbeam hitting these arranged toys, leading to my theory that it is a dipiction of some archaic pug calendar. Which begs the question....if you arrange your toys in the forest and nobody is around to see them, is it still time to play?