Work is piling up, deadlines closing in like the walls in a secret vault at the bad guys lair in an old episode of Electra Woman and Dyna Girl. The weekend lures with salon time and a Sunday indie and I need to hunker down. But first, a few recent and random thoughts.
She’s a nasty bitch that Mother Nature. Pimples at my age? True, those of us who suffered oily skin in our youth now enjoy mostly smooth, plump lushness. But there’s a rumbler under the bridge of my nose biding time. Oh god, can herpes travel that far North?
Social media is neither, really, and a contradiction mentioned here. In a blog. Friday night on the way out a restuarant and after a too meaty meal, we passed several tables of couples; Noah’s Ark, two-by-two, IRL flesh and bone clicking and texting into plastic palms instead of engaging conversation. Sunday, with hands in the mani bowl, a trio of females arrived at the nail salon, clearly Mom and daughters. They’d come for a polish change for the littlest blonde (8 if a day) and a pedi for blonde Mom and blonde pre-teen-pre-budding daughter. I turned to the woman plucking my cuticles.
“That’s so lovely,” I said. “I never did that with my Mom.” She replied back her agreement in broken, but good, English and suggested I do it now. I felt myself mist up, realizing I’d never had or suggested a spa day. That, I dunno perhaps, I should try to put aside the hurt of who we really are and what we can’t change and, I dunno perhaps, attempt double-team foot pampering. And hey, if it went to shit at least I’d have soft feet.
I turned eyes to the pedi tubs, where blonde #1, #2 and #3 sat in a row, feet in the bubbles. Each one clicking into plastic palms, saying nothing to each other.
When it comes to men and women, men like the chase. The build up and the anticipation. They'll sniff around, act a fool, show up at your house in the middle of night. Ladies like that (well, this one does) because it makes us feel desirable and special. Sexy. Turns us on too. Eventually we acquiesce and after sniff around and act a fool wanting more. When I’ve had a taste, I want a meal. After a meal, I want the kitchen (stole that from a friend). More. More. Men, eh, they’ll get to it again. But some of the initial thrill is gone. Which is why we have lingerie and yoga (for extra bendy acrobatics).