So. Waaaay back in June, when Abby was here, we went out for pedicures. It was, of course, one of those days I had taken off from work with the plan of sending Zoey to daycare while Abby and I enjoyed some fun kid-free time together, this plan alone of course induced fever/vomiting/rash/I don't remember what but I was sure it was contagious and she couldn't go to daycare, which caused another round of calling various relatives to see if they'd be willing to expose themselves to whatever she had so we could go and get a pedicure aannnddd....yeah. It was a hard-won pedicure. And it was glorious.
Unfortunately, I chose bright red nail polish. Which, for about 3 weeks, was fabulous. Then the chipping started. You know how it goes. But every time I looked down at my toes I remembered how happy I was to sit back in that chair and relax while someone else massaged my feet and painted my toenails.
Yesterday was the day I finally decided that my toes looked like they had a case of red-tinted mange, and it was time for the remaining polish to go.
But apparently I dozed off during the part of the pedicure where the nice lady mixed my red polish with cement and shellacked it to my toenails.
The job of removing it would have been easier if I had any cotton balls or a jack hammer in my bathroom. Which I don't. Which are now on my Target list, you know, for that one pedicure I get per year. I'm not sure what aisle I'll find a jack hammer in. But I'm sure Target carries them. It also would have been an easier task if my nail polish did not resemble the color of a fie-oh twuck. Sorry. Fire truck.
So there I was, freshly showered and dressed, crouched on the cracked plastic mauve lid of the mauve toilet in our upstairs bathroom, which creaked and moaned under my (massive? Am I that large?) weight every time I moved in with a sawing motion to attack another toe with a Q-Tip soaked in polish remover. I am not kidding, people, it took like 20 Q-Tips to get the job done. We're talking half a big toe's worth of polish on each side, with some smudges on the smaller toes. And has anyone ever noticed that nail polish remover leaves your fingers smelling vaguely of vinegar? Totally happy that I had the foresight to attack my toes AFTER my shower. Because the smell of vinegar mixes nicely with the scent of my Dove Grapefruit and Lemongrass scented soap.
The stubborn polish was totally pissing me off, and just as I finished burning holes in my big toes with polish remover and conceded the small toes to the color of red--FINE, NAIL POLISH YOU WIN!--I hopped up off the toilet seat lid, which promptly snagged my shorts and a nice thin strip of the flesh on my thigh in it's gigantic crack, which felt, you know, GREAT.
Next time, it's clear nail polish all the way. Maybe a faint pink. Maybe.
And yes. This is the second trauma to my backside in as many months. Wonder what I'll get my ass stuck in/impaled on/pinched by next month? Stay tuned.
1 comment:
dude, i TOLD you you should've had the french tips. they grow out on their own!
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