The Pedicure That Wasn’t Just Cosmetic
A frivolous visit that saved my big toe!
Today, I went for a pedicure. I always thought a pedicure was a luxury, an experience I desired but dreaded for months. Being unemployed, $50 for something cosmetic didn’t seem reasonable.
Any extra dollar at the end of the month goes towards something for my two kittens. I take motherhood seriously — even if we don’t share DNA.
I had neglected self-care for months, partly due to finances and partly because of a slight kitty postpartum depression. Having the responsibility for two lives sobered me up quickly — though I’ve never been much of a drinker. As wonderful as it is having these two furballs, it was a huge lifestyle change and turned emotionally challenging.
All this to say, I neglected myself for too long. So one sunny morning, I finally pushed open the door to the beauty salon. I knew where to go, having been there once over 18 months ago to make my toenails pretty.
The strong smell of acetone hit me as I entered, almost making me regret my decision, but I was committed. I deserved to treat myself, to be taken care of, for once. I asked shyly about the price for a French pedicure. The shop lady knew her menu by heart: “$45 for French shellac, $35 for regular polish. One color shellac is $40.”
