So, this weekend proved to be a little too much fun than I can usually stand. But I stood it….and I earned the hangover that was the inevitable byproduct of it, too. And it was FUN.
Unfortunately, the only pictures taken are absolutely un-show-able. Not because of content, but because they could quite possibly be the least flattering angles and shots of any one of the 4 of us ever taken.
And because I’d like to keep my friends…my dignity, however, is still back at the bar where it will most likely remain for at least a few more days.
I can’t wait for them to come back and do it again.
Moving forward, I decided that what I could really use today (and have been in desperate need of) is a pedicure. Aside from my sister calling me out on Easter weekend for the state of my tootsies, I also have a few parties to attend this week for Fiesta and let’s just say, I can’t go out looking like this anymore.
Nor do I want to end up in a Lloyd Christmas situation. Yikes.
Solution: lunchtime pedicure at a place down the street from work.
So I show up, I’m excited because there are only 2 other people in the whole joint, and I’m seated immediately. Which is good, because I’m a workin’ girl and have very little time for this kind of luxury.
Plus, there’s only so much Tweeting and BrickBreaker that a gal can handle in one sitting. I’m just sayin’.
So I sit down with a sweet, young girl named Courtney, who I just know is about to change my life forever with a foot massage, and she asks the standard “What kind of pedicure would you like?”
“Just the regular one, please. Nothing crazy!”
And I think I’m in the clear–because I always feel bad for some reason when they try to up sell me at the nail salon and I don’t go for it. Why? Who knows.
Anyway, this is NOT the end of this discussion. I’m pretty sure. From this point on, I hear the girl talk to her friend in Vietnamese and I’m POSITIVE she was mocking my “regular” pedicure.
Simmah down now, lady!! We’re in a recession!! People can’t go around dropping more than $30 for a pedicure any random Monday of the week, ok??
Therefore, I spent half of the time sitting there wondering what else she was saying about my poor, neglected feet and feeling slightly uncomfortable about it. And the other half wishing that Frank Costanza had been with me to decipher their conversation: