Friday, January 27, 2012

Yesterday, something was short circuiting in the part of my brain that controls temper. For absolutely no reason, everything was irritating me and I kept snapping at everyone. When hubby got home from school I informed him of this short circuit. He immediately said, "Why don't you go out and get a manicure or pedicure." I know, he's a very good, smart man.

My legs were hairy and I didn't feel like shaving them so I decided to try a shelac manicure. Off I went to the nail salon 30 seconds from my house. I was wordlessly ushered to a seat in front of Manicure Man (This will be his name for the duration of this blog post as I do not know his real name) by a petite smiling Vietnamese woman.

It never ceases to amaze me how much can be communicated without words. I knew where to sit and they knew what to do without any verbal cues. Through a series of hand gestures, smiles, and nods, manicure man and I picked out a nail color and my hands were lathered with lotion.

I must mention at this point that I've never had a manicure from a male before. It's always been a sweet, eager to please woman.

Anyway, manicure man tucked my Saran wrapped hands into two heated oven mitt like contraptions and left me to cook while he tended to another customer. At first I was a little thrown by his inability to communicate and his lack of desire to even try, but I soon found myself liking the silent treatment.

It was admittedly nice to not have to make small talk. I could just enjoy the process in silence. There was no obligatory talk of the weather or where I I was from. No, "How many kids you have?" or other such chit chat. Manicure Man didn't give a darn about my kids or anything about me and I liked him for it. There was no pressure, just sweet silence.

Then the clipping of the cuticles began. I had no idea I even had that much cuticle to spare. Holy mother of dead skin! He just kept clipping away. I started to doubt my initial positive judgements of manicure man, but it never hurt and the results were impressive. He looked up at me and said, "A lot, a lot!" (referring to the amount of cuticle he excavated from my nail beds). For some reason I found this funny and laughed...loudly. Then he started talking in Vietnamese to his co-worker.

I imagine he said something like, "This crazy blond chick with nasty cuticles
just laughed like she thinks I'm some kind of comedian. This loud mouth American has been sipping on some crazy juice."

Realistically he probably said, "Do you have change for a ten? I need change for a customer." Either way, I'd really like to talk about someone in a different language while they are right in front of me. That's power baby! Definitely going on my bucket list.

In the end I learned a few things from the above experience.

One, we can communicate a whole lot without saying a word and often it's better to do so.

Two, on the flip side, you can have a person literally hold your hand for a half an hour and know nothing about them.

Three, silence doesn't have to be awkward and can be quite nice.

Four, I have nasty cuticles.

And lastly, an hour of relaxation is just enough time for me to miss my family again.

P.S. Go pamper yourself!

1 comment:

  1. jody, you are so funny when you write. Such a gift. SO true about just an hour break of sweetness can help us re-juice to be with our family again. I'm going to get a pedi tom.


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