Spoiling Myself

Mary Keith! Mary Keith won my drawing. Please contact me with your address and I'll pop the prayer book in the mail along with a few other goodies :)

Yesterday I sat in a chair at a neighborhood nail place and pampered myself. Before marriage and baby, I did this a lot. Since marriage and baby, I do this sparingly - think maybe twice in five years . Anyhoo, let's begin at the beginning.

Yesterday afternoon, Mikey went down for a nap. I cleaned the living room, did laundry, unloaded the dish washer, read a contest entry, and then... most amazing... Mikey still slept. So, Cheshire smile on face, I slink toward 'da' husband and say, "You know, I've been wanting a pedicure. Mikey's still asleep. I'm going to go get one." He's also in bed taking a nap. I'm sure that's why he didn't tabulate how long Mikey'd been asleep, and off I went.

Being it was Sunday, the first place I tried was closed. Yes, I think all nail places, and many other places, should be closed on Sunday. The second place I tried was open. I walk in, they take walk ins, and promptly sit in a chair and the nail tech begins. First of, there is no first time pamphlet. The chair had a control on it, so I'm thinking it's a massage chair, but I don't want to play with the control. There are about ten chairs, all in a row, and more than half are occupied. Unfortunately, this is not the beauty parlor of the fifties (If I ever find one, I'll go every other week!) and none of the ladies are talking or laughing. The nail techs are talking and laughing but not in a language I speak. I pull a book from my purse and start reading. The nail tech asks me if I'm a teacher. I check my shirt. Am I wearing a name tag? I ask her how she knows and she motions at the book. I'm concerned because I want the plumbers, secretaries, lawyers, and car mechanics of the world to pull books out when their getting their nails done too! I'm sure the nail tech thought I had indigestion as these thoughts flittered across my face. A moment later, she got a little carried away with a sharp instrument and I yelp. Everyone looks at me and/or her. I'm embarrassed because I yelped loudly, and then I worry about 'saving face' a concept I only know from television. I assure her everything is fine and check for blood. It's there but minutely.

She finishes my feet and then because my cellphone hasn't sounded (I'd forgotten that I turned it off before church and hadn't turned it on after church) I go ahead and get the fingernails done. This includes a hand massage that I don't want (I am probably one of the few humans who truly hate massages). When she finishes, I'm wildly happy. My feet are soft and feminine looking. My nails are even, painted, and two of them have little jeweled flowers painted on. I pay a ridiculous price and scoot out the door to drive home wearing those flimsy little slippers they provide.

At home, Mikey is still asleep (well, he didn't take a nap at all yesterday!) and I show hubby hands and feet. He grunts. LOL

Recipe - Barbecue Loaf
Buy pizza crust (the one in the Pillsbury Dough Boy like can)
Buy a tub of barbecue beef (or pork or whatever)
Roll out pizza crust into a rectangle.
Poor barbecue down the middle.
Fold pizza crust until barbecue is covered over. It should look like a loaf.
Cook on 425 for 35 minutes.