why did I wait until i was 62 . . .

to have my first pedicure? And, no, for my feet phobic friends, there will be no tootsie shots. I promise. A couple of weeks ago, my friend Joanie mentioned she had just gone for a pedicure, herewith referred to as 'peddies' or maybe just plain "p" and so I blurt out that I had never had a 'p' and would like to go with, next time she went. This afternoon she called to ask if I was up for a trip to the nail salon.

First I needed to get the lay of the land. What do I wear? How much is it? How much do you tip? What do I expect? Patiently she answered my questions and off we went. I played my own game of Simon Says. Joanie sat, I sat. Joanie pulled up the side tray, I pulled up my side tray. Joanie picked up her chair remote, I picked up my chair remote. Yo! Wait! A remote? I could get to like this . . . there I am, relaxed in this big massaging chair, feet in warm swirling water . . . yummo!

Immediately, this fellow comes along and starts clipping, shaping, massaging, buffing and exfoliating my poor neglected toes and feet, followed by more massaging of lotions and potions on my calves and finally covering the entire area with a steamy hot towel. I may never move again. This is heaven. After applying bottom, top and color, he leads me, duck walking, over to the drying area. Unfortunately, I am finished before Joanie and have no idea I am supposed to stick my feet under the purple lights, dumb neophyte that I am. And, I immediately smudge both big toe nails . . . which he promptly fixes.

While Joanie brought her own polish, I chose an OPI copper shade called Ruble for Your Thoughts. Get it? Giggle.

Lunch with the girls and my first 'p'. It's been a good day in the cave. Next week maybe I'll try hair extensions or an eyelash perm . . .