Words by Dena Dyer

It was a beautiful spring day. Several friends had generously given me a certificate for a free pedicure, and I planned on taking advantage of it.

As I strolled into a local salon, I looked forward to a therapeutic experience. After all, I was the mother of two energetic, crazy boys who sometimes acted like Kramer from Seinfeld. (There’s my husband, too, but he’s another story). I DESERVED pampering. Yay verily, I desperately needed it.

I might have guessed that the pedicure would not go well when the woman who greeted me brusquely asked what color I wanted my toes painted. When I answered, “pink,” she pinched her face up and parroted, “PINK? Why PINK?”

Sigh. Suddenly, my spirits plummeted. I simply had no desire to recreate Elaine’s infamous Seinfeld appointment.

Her reaction left me flummoxed, not relaxed. Dear reader, is it not my choice what color I want my toes to be? Pink is my favorite color. Would the salon employee get a commission if I instead picked cerulean or ochre? Why did they offer pink as a choice, if it was not an option? Did Ms. Salon have a traumatic memory of rose or rouge?

I decided to leave the unanswerable questions aside and stuck to my pink plan. However, the foot care I received was rough at best and tortuous at worst. In all fairness, the sides and back of my feet have calluses as big as Jerry Seinfeld’s royalty checks.

Finally, I was instructed to put my feet under the sun lamp to dry the polish, but because Ms. Salon was a “low talker,” I didn’t understand a word. When I asked her to repeat what she said, she rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue. Say what?!

Listen, lady, I wanted to say, I’m not one of the high-rise Hollywood elite; I seldom have the extra money or time to pamper myself. When I do, I’d much rather get a massage than a pedicure (especially now). And you have just given me the most stressful treatment I could have imagined. Not exactly what I was going for. Plus, you have a Newman-esque attitude!

However, I gathered all the lessons I’d learned growing up in the South, smiled my biggest, sweetest Texas smile, and resolved to talk to her boss. Maybe she read my mind, because as I was giving her the gift certificate, she talked to the other employees (again, too low for me to hear). Her gestures and body language told me all I needed to know about what she thought of me.

In the future, I’ll take my tootsies elsewhere or pamper them at home…where I can watch my favorite Seinfeld and exfoliate in peace.

About Dena

Dena Dyer is a professional writer and speaker, as well as the author of eight books and hundreds of articles. Her most recent book, written with her husband Carey, is Love at First Fight: 52 Story-Based Meditations for Married Couples. In her day job, Dena is the Director of Communications and Development at Brazos Pregnancy Center. She and Carey have been married nineteen wonderful years, and a couple more they don’t talk about. They live in Granbury with their two sons (Jordan and Jackson) and a spoiled dog, Princess. Dena loves coffee with hazelnut creamer, traveling, reading, shopping at thrift stores, and watching British television.