After I finished weeding the only yard on the street overrun with poison ivy, I drove to the Exercise Center ten miles away for my first day of an exercise program. It is safe to say that I like working out even less than weeding or showing up for a mammogram.
At the Center, I was shown how to do everything from leg stretches to upper body strengthening. The instructor was gentle to the point of patronizing and who could blame her? All it took was one look at my train-wrecked body for her to read washout written all over it. After what seemed like the longest forty-five minutes of instructions in my life, I limped away wearing a ragged look capable of scaring a pit bull into the middle of next week. I was also starving, so I hightailed it to the first fast foodarama I could find, where I inhaled the biggest cheeseburger on the menu and a super-sized side of fries.
Wiping leftover crumbs from my face and brushing dropped onions and fries off my lap, I thought my worn out old body deserved yet another reward. A quick glance at my fingers and toes loudly shouted mani-pedi at the Asian Nail Spa. In retrospect, that might not have been the best decision I could have made.
The nail spa I most often frequent offers manicures and fill-ins, pedicures, waxing and occasionally a tanning bed. For my money, it’s just a mani-pedi. I sign in, pick out my polish color and prepare to wait until it is time for someone to mosey over and pamper me for an hour or so.
Now, my account of that day might sound like I made it up in order to write a humorous column that would make you laugh. But that was not the case. No need to write and ask me if it really happened because I’m telling you, it did.
Becky, the Vietnamese pedicurist politely instructed me to sit down on the end of the massage chair, the one that looks like a motorized Lazy Boy Recliner. She pulled out the footrest at the bottom and said, “Easier you untie shoes from here,” indicating the lace up Reeboks I had recently worked out in.
I am nothing if not a follower, so I did as I was told and that's when my world turned upside down. Literally. If I live to be 175-years old, I will never understand why I chose to lean back on that pedicure Lazy Boy. But I did and that’s when, as if I was sitting on a banana peel, my boney butt slid smack into the pedicure water!
Before I could even blink, my patootie was bobbing up and down like a duck and my legs were up in the air in a most unladylike position while a battalion of Vietnamese ran amok yelling. While I was laughing and trying to catch my breath, the resident Cong tried to remember how to call 911 for the crazy lady.
Oh, the embarrassing moments we seniors go through for just a little pampering.
After I stopped laughing, I left the spa for a much-needed haircut where my day was light years from improving. My hairdresser failed to show up because she had a hangover and she seriously believed she was at death's door. In my town, first responders don't respond to morning afters.
So, wearing a head full of short, wet hair because the substitute hairdresser didn't have time to blow dry it, I left for the grocery store. I planned to make a tomato pie with the glut of tomatoes given to me by everyone I know who had enough sense to plant a garden
Instead, I bought a large bottle of tequila. For three hours, while fighting this devil-sent August heat, all I had thought about was a frozen margarita. I could almost feel it slipping down my parched throat. Olé! I did the Mexican Hat Dance right there in the middle of the liquor aisle.
Now, where did I put my blender? Oh wait. Do I even OWN a blender?
Senior moments. Are they special or what?