These Hands

"These hands are small, I know..." I always sing that Jewel song and then laugh and laugh and laugh. I'm almost 6 feet tall. I do NOT have small hands. We tease in our family about our "man hands" like from Jerry Seinfeld.

Today I was sick most of the morning then by mid-afternoon I started feeling a little better. I dropped the girls off to a little Halloween party hosted by cute cousin Daisy. I had a lot of errands I needed to run but as I drove by the old Albertsons and strip mall that I used to frequent nearly every day as a youth, I saw a new store. FC Nails. I thought, "I think I deserve a pedicure." I'm not sure what I deserve it for. Maybe for resisting a pedicure for so long? I don't know, but I walked in and the place was empty, just waiting for me.

I love and I hate a pedicure.

I love to have my feet massaged. I love to have pretty toes. I love how the little Vietnamese ladies get off every bit of yucky skin.

But I hate a pedicure because I am always a little insecure. Today I figured out the reason why. I might sound mean or offensive. I do not mean to be at all. I have simply found that for some reason every young Vietnamese girl that has ever given me a pedicure speaks to me very bluntly and honestly, usually painfully honestly. Today I was reminded how much I feel like I am naked in front of a little child when I get a pedicure. You know how comments from kids are the most sincere and also can be the most painful sometimes? Like a little child tells you, "You're so pretty." and it makes your day because you know they truly mean it, even if their definition of beauty is not necessarily the same as yours. And also when a child says, "Why are there red bumps all over your face?" You know that they really see how bad your acne looks. Well, this is how exposed I feel in front of my little Vietnamese friends.

Today I sat down and she looked at my toes.
"You want all different color?" she asks with kind of a disgusted look on her face.
"No," I say. "I let my daughters do that the other day. Just this shade here will be fine for all of my toes."

Then, I cringe as her eyes wander over to my hands. Her eyebrows raise. "You want manicure?"

"Uh," I stammer, "No, I don't have time for both today." (I never get a manicure, only a pedicure about once per year)

She keeps one eyebrow cocked and looks at me ubelievingly. She's seeing my hands. "I do them both at same time. Look like you need manicure."

"Oh, um, well," I am ashamed, yet undaunted. "No thanks. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

And I remember back to my first ever pedicure. My mother-in-law took me to a similar salon on the day before my wedding. She paid for me to have a mani/pedi. It was lovely. But much of the same. Including, "Yo' eyebrows? What you want me to do with them?"

"Um, nothing?"

"Ha! You get married! You not have eyebrows like this!"

I glance in the mirror. They look the same as always. "Well, I don't know, do you think they need to be waxed?"

"Oh yes. You not get married like that."

And since then I have always had very well tended brows. I mean, I really thought they were pretty well-tended. I didn't let them grow together or crazy or anything. But apparently to all of the ladies there (yes, she brought them all over), I looked like a cave man.

So, anyway, today I sat and looked at my hands. I looked at her sad face. But I held firm.

"My hands are fine, thanks."

"Okay. What wrong with your hair?"

See why I hate and love a pedicure? Anyway, my feet are all nice and pretty now. And my hands still look like this: