My pedicure is fading. (sniffle)
The gorgeous glossy color is beginning to dull, and the edges of my toenails are showing. (sob)
Perhaps I should explain the reason for my deep, thick, black despair.
Pedicures where I live: suck.
Granted, it's like eating a foreign food here in the U.S. and then going to that country of origin and eating the "REAL THING" made how it's been made since God was a boy...and going "WHOA! I've been getting RIPPED OFF!" because the real thing is SO much better.....leaps, bounds, miles, light years.
When I was in NYC last month, we were staying on Long Island in a village called Cove Neck. I put in quite a bit of 'mileage' in NYC covering most of the island. I think....if I had a range: from the north end of Central Park all the way down to Battery Park and the piers for Staten Island and such. I. walked. everywhere.
The first thing you have to keep in mind is I have a blood disorder that messes with my circulation. I'm SO horribly thrilled about that as I might be 37 on the calendar- but I am NOT 37 in my head. I'm 22. And 22 does NOT mean old, or getting old, or even within SIGHT of old. Yet, here I am....I have circulation issues.
Apparently, my circulatory issues like to manifest themselves in my feet first: swollen little vienna sausages for toes. Big, plump, acorn squash looking feet with bulbous ankles. Sounds lovely, doesn't it.
UGH.
Ok...so, from 2 flights out, major altitude changes, a 7 hour car ride to GET to the airport....the deck was stacked against me from the start on this NYC trip. Then I went and walked. And walked. And walked....and WALKED. I climbed stairs in and out of subways, I trotted uphill and downhill, I went round and round in stores and markets. I hit high curbs and low curbs. In the rain.
Oh, did I mention I have arthritis too?
So, by the fourth day in NYC, my feet, were D-O-N-E. Well done. Completely done. Borderline burnt-done. We paused to do laundry that Sunday morning in a little laundromat in Oyster Bay, New York. We're sitting there having our NY bagels, with some NY coffee. Next door, is a nail shop. Not a full-on salon, mind you, a nail shop.
We have these nail shops everywhere now. A few things are standard: First; asian or oriental staff. Second; sparse decor. Third; Big Buddah inside the door. This shop fit the profile.
I walked in, and I was the only client, with three women working. I was laid siege to. Blissfully. The menu of services was simple, and I tend to expect to spend $20-40 on a pedicure, which includes the soak, re-doing my toenails, and some work on my heels as I tend to be barefoot 90% of the time.
At home, this is a 45-60 minute process, with "meh" (read indifferent) results.
HOLY COW. The three ladies set upon me, rolled my jeans up to my knees, and started working on my calves. Mint Julep sea salt scrub. (sigh) Lavender oil massage. (sigh) Meanwhile, my swollen and aching feet were in a hot soak with soothing salts and moisturizers. (sigh) I couldn't believe what they were doing for the price she quoted me.
You also need to know that I HOBBLED into this shop. My left foot, with my high arches, was cramped. My heels and ankles swollen. My toes screaming if I curled them. I also had a blister, about the size of a silver dollar, right at the top of my foot, under the toes, right where the large pad and the smaller pads meet. Think: between your big toe and your first little toe, on the underside, between them, to where it 'creases' when you curl your toes. Imagine walking with a blister, there.
Yeah. Define agony.
So I hobbled in, and just figured a set of nice colored toenails would make me feel better.
Again: HOLY COW.
After this great treatment to my aching calves, which she then wrapped in warm towels smelling of jasmine....(I wanted to take her home with me at this point but she didn't speak any english) this beloved angel of mercy set upon my poor feet.
Turns out, my angel was also a trained Chinese reflexologist/accupressurist. I've never come so close to being in love with a woman in all my life.
I went from not being able to flex, curl, or otherwise mobilize my feet to being able to curl, flex and feel like I could dance down Madison Ave. with no problem whatsoever. That sweet, HEAVENLY creature spent 45 minutes massaging my feet- from the initial winces of pain and stifled shrieks I had when she pushed her thumb into my arch, to where I was nearly asleep, in a fog of jasmine and lavender.....and my feet completely relaxed.
She didn't stop there. [ I did mention I offered to let her come live with me, yes?]
She wrapped my heels in small plastic bags filled with hot parrafin. She removed the warm towels, and then massaged my toes and pads with her fingers- and I just melted into a puddle in the chair. Then she had me get up, and sit in another chair...where she proceeded to massage my shoulders, neck and back. I fell asleep. She was that good.
I can't tell you- but my husband could- what that hour did for me. I came in there a broken, worn out, swollen and blubbering photographer who was dreading the next day of shooting in NYC as I wasn't sure I was going to be able to walk for it. She brought me back to life. I danced out of that nail shop, that heaven.
I also put in a 17 hour day the next day and shot over 1200 photos. I was still walking at 2 a.m. when we got off the LIRR train in Oyster Bay.
SO, if you're ever in the neighborhood:
They are angels. They are magicians. I'd import them here if I could.
I wonder if a RT ticket to Oyster Bay from Denver is worth the $35 pedicure she gave me, and part of me says it is. I tipped her, HUGE. I'm mad at my local shop- I think they are a gimmick.
Oh yeah, the color I had her do? "Big Apple Red"....worth EVERY PENNY.
The gorgeous glossy color is beginning to dull, and the edges of my toenails are showing. (sob)
Perhaps I should explain the reason for my deep, thick, black despair.
Pedicures where I live: suck.
Granted, it's like eating a foreign food here in the U.S. and then going to that country of origin and eating the "REAL THING" made how it's been made since God was a boy...and going "WHOA! I've been getting RIPPED OFF!" because the real thing is SO much better.....leaps, bounds, miles, light years.
When I was in NYC last month, we were staying on Long Island in a village called Cove Neck. I put in quite a bit of 'mileage' in NYC covering most of the island. I think....if I had a range: from the north end of Central Park all the way down to Battery Park and the piers for Staten Island and such. I. walked. everywhere.
The first thing you have to keep in mind is I have a blood disorder that messes with my circulation. I'm SO horribly thrilled about that as I might be 37 on the calendar- but I am NOT 37 in my head. I'm 22. And 22 does NOT mean old, or getting old, or even within SIGHT of old. Yet, here I am....I have circulation issues.
Apparently, my circulatory issues like to manifest themselves in my feet first: swollen little vienna sausages for toes. Big, plump, acorn squash looking feet with bulbous ankles. Sounds lovely, doesn't it.
UGH.
Ok...so, from 2 flights out, major altitude changes, a 7 hour car ride to GET to the airport....the deck was stacked against me from the start on this NYC trip. Then I went and walked. And walked. And walked....and WALKED. I climbed stairs in and out of subways, I trotted uphill and downhill, I went round and round in stores and markets. I hit high curbs and low curbs. In the rain.
Oh, did I mention I have arthritis too?
So, by the fourth day in NYC, my feet, were D-O-N-E. Well done. Completely done. Borderline burnt-done. We paused to do laundry that Sunday morning in a little laundromat in Oyster Bay, New York. We're sitting there having our NY bagels, with some NY coffee. Next door, is a nail shop. Not a full-on salon, mind you, a nail shop.
We have these nail shops everywhere now. A few things are standard: First; asian or oriental staff. Second; sparse decor. Third; Big Buddah inside the door. This shop fit the profile.
I walked in, and I was the only client, with three women working. I was laid siege to. Blissfully. The menu of services was simple, and I tend to expect to spend $20-40 on a pedicure, which includes the soak, re-doing my toenails, and some work on my heels as I tend to be barefoot 90% of the time.
At home, this is a 45-60 minute process, with "meh" (read indifferent) results.
HOLY COW. The three ladies set upon me, rolled my jeans up to my knees, and started working on my calves. Mint Julep sea salt scrub. (sigh) Lavender oil massage. (sigh) Meanwhile, my swollen and aching feet were in a hot soak with soothing salts and moisturizers. (sigh) I couldn't believe what they were doing for the price she quoted me.
You also need to know that I HOBBLED into this shop. My left foot, with my high arches, was cramped. My heels and ankles swollen. My toes screaming if I curled them. I also had a blister, about the size of a silver dollar, right at the top of my foot, under the toes, right where the large pad and the smaller pads meet. Think: between your big toe and your first little toe, on the underside, between them, to where it 'creases' when you curl your toes. Imagine walking with a blister, there.
Yeah. Define agony.
So I hobbled in, and just figured a set of nice colored toenails would make me feel better.
Again: HOLY COW.
After this great treatment to my aching calves, which she then wrapped in warm towels smelling of jasmine....(I wanted to take her home with me at this point but she didn't speak any english) this beloved angel of mercy set upon my poor feet.
Turns out, my angel was also a trained Chinese reflexologist/accupressurist. I've never come so close to being in love with a woman in all my life.
I went from not being able to flex, curl, or otherwise mobilize my feet to being able to curl, flex and feel like I could dance down Madison Ave. with no problem whatsoever. That sweet, HEAVENLY creature spent 45 minutes massaging my feet- from the initial winces of pain and stifled shrieks I had when she pushed her thumb into my arch, to where I was nearly asleep, in a fog of jasmine and lavender.....and my feet completely relaxed.
She didn't stop there. [ I did mention I offered to let her come live with me, yes?]
She wrapped my heels in small plastic bags filled with hot parrafin. She removed the warm towels, and then massaged my toes and pads with her fingers- and I just melted into a puddle in the chair. Then she had me get up, and sit in another chair...where she proceeded to massage my shoulders, neck and back. I fell asleep. She was that good.
I can't tell you- but my husband could- what that hour did for me. I came in there a broken, worn out, swollen and blubbering photographer who was dreading the next day of shooting in NYC as I wasn't sure I was going to be able to walk for it. She brought me back to life. I danced out of that nail shop, that heaven.
I also put in a 17 hour day the next day and shot over 1200 photos. I was still walking at 2 a.m. when we got off the LIRR train in Oyster Bay.
SO, if you're ever in the neighborhood:
They are angels. They are magicians. I'd import them here if I could.
I wonder if a RT ticket to Oyster Bay from Denver is worth the $35 pedicure she gave me, and part of me says it is. I tipped her, HUGE. I'm mad at my local shop- I think they are a gimmick.
Oh yeah, the color I had her do? "Big Apple Red"....worth EVERY PENNY.
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