I Think There May Have Been a Reason I Didn't Celebrate Holidays Growing Up

So I took myself out to lunch and then a mani/pedi for Mother's Day because if you want something done right, don't breed with an alcoholic who has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Aside right here in the main content aside: Mani/Pedi just sounds harsh in the singular, don't you think? Like sewing, or words, mani/pedis should happen with friends. Particularly this one. She was the best mani/pedi-mate of all time, and I hate Indiana and Arizona for breaking up our very emo, feathery, glittery 70's grunge band. But anyways. 

I'm a Pisces, so pedicures are pretty much my Asian porn.  I wonder why I get shitty search rank in Google. I already go in every two weeks because I inherited my father's luscious chest hair and formidable foot callouses, but I figured that since my kids' dad had them all day long on the one day a year I could actually stand a chance of getting them to do anyfuckingthing for me (aside from being your amazing, awesome selves, kids; your momma wuves you - now stop reading my blog) and also YOLO so I went in for a Bonus Pedicure With Additional Manicure on my off-week.

So I deserve everything that happened next. 

They're already annoyed with me when I show up because I brought my own polish again and The Pedicure Gods do not like to use your inferior nail polish, even if it is the superest sexiest color in the whole world that you straight up stole they usage rights to from your co-worker *and* you've bought it three times in a row because you keep losing it, so it's actually $24 nail polish but they don't give a shit because NOT CHINA GLAZE. I got invited to sit in the 'twenty minute wait' pedicure chair which roughly translates to 'Oh, what, our polish choices aren't good enough for you? Ha! You will sit there and read that Seventeen Magazine and prune all the nasty ass callouses off your feet until we are damn good and ready to get to you, which may be this week. Also, you need to lose some weight and get out of the sun.'

And I sat in it.

Because Mother's Day.

Later this year, my pedicurist came over. Now, I go to this nail spot every two weeks like my eternal salvation depends on it. Occasionally, I bring all of my children with me. They handle my manicures, my pedicures, and my waxing. Of my face. Screw the rest of that noise. (I took the F word out of that sentence. See, Google? I'm making an effort.) I once got a Rose Marie Reid wax and I now question everything I thought I knew about life, love, and theology.


I mean, pain like that can't have come to be by accident. There *must* have been some intelligent designer with some sa-heerious mommy issues behind it. So my pedicurist comes over and oh good, it's the lady who usually does 3of3's toes. She's nice, she doesn't make me talk to her too m....oh, wait. She's sitting down at the chair beside me. Weird, I was totally here first. And then he came over.


A. Man. There are no men in pedicures. (Well, there was one dude in there with his wife, but he was adorable and by adorable I mean insanely hot and so we all smiled at him and did not drool at all and admired that he loved his wife so much he'd get a fucking lotus flower salt scrub pedicure on Mother's Day with her. That's devotion.) (Fuck Google.) (Also, my very insanely hot boyfriend is also into public displays of affection on Mother's Day, but I am pretty sure he draws the line at people touching his feet. We all have limits to our love.)

So this guy, whom I've seen at the nail place before, starts giving me a pedicure. I had just enough of The Patriarchy beat into me that there are not enough massage chairs and paraffin dips on earth to make me okay with a man admistering my pedicure. I was all WHAA? and he was all later you shall understand and I was like dude, you shall never wash my feet and he was all unless I wash you, you will have no part with me and then I was like well shit, go ahead then.

No, that was Jesus. Nevermind. 

Jesus for dummies aside: Snoop Dog needs to make the next audio-recording of the Bible. I'd totally play that bullshit on roadtrips.

So this guy is giving me a pedicure and at first I  don't even know what to make eye contact with or anything but then he started scrubbing my feet with the callous remover thing and oh my god you guys? Seriously? THE CLUB COULDN'T EVEN HANDLE HIM RIGHT NOW.  

Upper body strength - 1; 17 year in a patriarchal cult - 0.

And it was like nothing for him to do it. That much force would have seen my normal pedicurist up onto her open-toed, clear-heeled, bedazzled platform pumps, putting her tiny little delicate back into it. Him? He was like tra-la-la-lala Jeff Foxworthy sure is funny NOMORECALLOUSESFORYOU tra-la-la-lala

And that's when my guard came a'tumblin' down.

Next thing I know I can't even feel my calves because they are now fucking lotus flower salt scented jello and some show that I can only guess is called Are You Smarter Than a Christian is on the tv - and I am p0wing the fucking shit out of it. I realize this whole thing is going down exactly like Misery but I can't make it stop because this crazy ass man has me by the feet and if I do not spell Nebuchadnezzar correctly in the next 15 seconds he is going to cut me. 

Did I mention I also ate kale for the first time yesterday? That's an experience I don't intend to repeat except to, like, save the world n' stuff. 

And then it was over. He applied my $24 nail polish and I learned a valuable lesson - men can and should give pedicures, but under no circumstances should you ask even the most Foxworthy-loving-combover-sporting-Hollister-wearing man to apply your $24 nail polish. My five year old son did a better job than this clown

Everyone stopped reading two hours ago, so no one is going to click that link aside:

TXU, helping his pregnant momma out. And being really adorable. 

TXU, helping his pregnant momma out. And being really adorable. 

So of course, the only way to end this night was to take myself to dinner, which ended up being me and the kids and their dad because he was just running them through the drive through for burgers on his way to bring them back to me so I invited them to join me. For Mother's Day dinner. Because Opposite Day. And then we came home and watching Mama because the only person with more delicious mommy issues than either the asshole who invented bikini waxing and Walt Disney is Guillermo del Toro, and we know how to take any holiday celebration entirely too far. This was fine, of course, until 3:27 this am when I had to go pee, so I went in the boys' bathroom because I was sleeping on the couch because I was too afraid of my daughter to go sleep next to her and right as I walked out of the washroom, my 15 year old walked out of his bedroom door.

Hilarity ensued.

The end.