It was a Saturday.
I wanted to get my nails done. It tends to be an alternating Saturday
activity. Get up. Work out. Take
shower. Reward self with Diet Coke and a pedicure. And then later chocolate
and cheese, but that's another entry.
I love getting pedicures for all kinds of reasons, but
mostly because I feel sort of....well....tawdry and dirty when I'm receiving them.
You know, the whole "bad is good" thing.
I know, I know. You're thinking "What the hell?" But hear me out. When you go for a pedicure, not only does the pedicurist take all the dead skin off your feet and cuticles, not only does she file, trim and paint your toes, but he gives you a massage. Which is frankly the only reason I go. And foot massages are intimate.
I mean who, other than your partner or perhaps one of your young children (R-rated link), can get away with washing and scrubbing your feet? Who else can boldly caress you in between your toes? Who else can dare squirt lotion on you and proceed to rub and
knead your leg? ALL the way up to the
knee? There are people walking around with foot fetishes for crying out loud, and
the ones in this line of work shamelessly fondle strangers feet and legs. In public! Part of me feels like a
john when I'm forking over money for my shiny, satisfied new appendages 75 minutes later.
(You know, the thought just occurred to me that if the foot
fetish men learned how to give professional pedicures, they could very easily take care
of this particular...um...need? Although there are some obvious complications
that could arise. So to speak. Seeing as this is nearly a G-rated blog, I
shant go into them. But you know what
I'm saying.)
Moving on.
The first thing that happens after the initial greeting
when you walk in to any shop is the little Asians* ascertain what you want
(Pedicure? Manicure? Both?) and then they instruct you to pick a color.
At which point I'm essentially paralyzed.
Because there are literally scores of colors from which
to choose--little jars of happy that span 1/2 a wall, and I am nearly always standing in front of that kaleidoscope for ten
minutes trying to decide which one I want.
Tell me you wouldn't feel
overwhelmed with confronted with
this:
In my head, I know
this is no big deal. It's JUST a color
for my damn toenails, after all. Plus the color, for me, is secondary to the whole pedicure experience. It's
not even a long-term relationship we're talking about; two to three weeks max before I go in and
unceremoniously ditch the last color for something new. But you would think I'm
deciding on a new world order.
Because not only do they have the
nerve to throw blues and greens and neons and sparkles and french manicures in the mix,
but you can now get designs too. Tiger stripes and zebra stripes and leopard spots and flowers and french
manicures combined with flowers and the list goes on and on.
It's too much!
For the record, I almost always end up with a purple or a red on my toes. Never glitter. Never designs. Never crackle on top. But until I make up my mind, there's always the possibility that THIS is the time I'll let loose and go wild. THIS is the time that my tootsies will radiate with sparkles. THIS is the time I'll go all nouveau-riche with a French manicure topped with an iridescent gold. The internal grappling is part of the whole ritual.
I posted my dilemma to Facebook once and my cousin had
the nerve to point out that she only uses OPI colors, and she only chooses her
nail colors based on the name of said OPI polish.
Since then, I vascillate between wanting to kiss her and
wanting to wring her neck.
Say you: That's a bit harsh.
Say me: Stay with me here, because it will all become
crystal clear in a moment.
OPI doesn't just
name their colors. They make an art out of declaring that each bottle of polish is nothing short of a
motion picture. After she indoctrinated
me into her little club, I can't help but compulsively turn over the
bottles to read the title of the polish. Thus the time for my decision making process exponentially
increased. Because now not only am I confronted with finding the right color, I
have to find the right color coupled with the right
name.
It's an important decision.
And here's the thing with OPI colors. There is no guarantee that the name of the color on the bottle is going to give you any sort of clue as to what color is ensconced within. Which just makes them that much more enchanting.
Let's play a game, shall
we? I will give you a name and you guess the polish color.
Ready?
It's All Greek to Me**:
a) metallic royal blue
b) dark pink
c) light blue with silver glitter
d) black
Say you: Seriously?
The name of the color is "It's All Greek to Me?"
Say me: Ponder the fact
that someone is paid to come up with these names. I want
that job.
Some of the colors are fairly
self-explanatory when you think about
them. For instance "Down to
My Last Penny" is a shimmery copper and "Pink
Voltage" is an orangey-pink. But
then there's "Watermelon Rind" which is not green as one would
expect, but turquoise with sparkles in it. "Cup-o-CAW-fee", my choice on this particular day, was not a light brown as one would surmise, but a translucent baby pink. Consider this little gem: "You Don't Know Jacques". Fantastic
name. Truly. But it belongs to a dark grey nail polish which just reminds me
of death. Or 16-year-old cutters who
only listen to Marilyn Manson and Insane Clown Posse. Needless to say, I'm not
enamored with such images and don't want my tootsies to project that I am, or
aspire to be, a corpse.
Say you: Can't you just pick a color you like and forget
the name? That really doesn't seem too hard.
Say me: And miss out on the chance of knowingly walking around with
a color on my toes called "Fiji Weejee Fawn?" Surely you jest. ->
*Yes, Asians. If you've had just one pedicure in your life, you would know that 96% of the shops are almost exclusively run by Asian men and women.
**The answer is b, dark pink.
