Good Grooming is Painful

My wife and I just got back to Cincinnati from a brief winter respite in Southern California-warm weather, bright sunshine, and the great views of the Pacific Ocean. We flew back into a snowstorm yesterday evening. It took four hours to fly to Cincinnati and 2 and 1/2 hours to reach our home from the Cincy airport.


We were visiting friends that we have known for many years. My wife and her friend Karen go back to the fourth grade. After our initial jet lag in LA, Karen asked Pam if she wanted to get a pedicure. I guess this is one those female bonding rituals that has its roots in the Paleozoic period when women cleaned their toe nails with flints of stone. For whatever reason, I invited myself along; particularly when Karen told us it was very inexpensive.

We headed out for our pedicure experience. I impulsively said yes not really knowing what was in store for me when I got there. As we arrived at the ubiquitous strip mall found throughout LA, I did ask, "Does a pedicure hurt?" After they assured me that I would survive the ordeal, Karen ushered Pam and I into pedicure heaven, Charmin Nails.

The salon is owned and operated by an extended Vietnamese family. The establishment had rows of chairs and tables with various Vietnamese women working over the hands and feet of many compliant customers. I was confronted with the grinding sounds from electric-driven implements the manicurists were using on various customers. The sounds seemed to parallel those noises we all are familiar with while sitting in the Dentist's chair. I guess I wasn't expecting that pedicures involved heavy machinery! Karen assured me that these tools were only employed to grind down the old polish and gunk that had built up on patrons' nails. Fortunately, I had gunk but not polish gunk.

The receptionist asked me what I wanted. Without hesitation, I said, "The works." I was ushered to a massage chair with large foot bath. I plopped down in the chair and proceeded to fire up the massagers. Two women came over and started to give me instructions by pointing and nodding. One bathed my feet and the other dipped my fingers in some alien solution. I thought to myself, "This isn't too bad."

Unfortunately, this was only a prelude to the next stage in the manicure/pedicure procedure. I looked down and the Madame managing my feet had set out on her work station a collection of various stainless steel implements with sharp points. The grinding was one thing to overcome. I guess I was not expecting major surgery or sutures. Madame Two, in charge of my hands, began to cut my finger nails with clippers that looked as if they could shape diamonds. Madame One followed suit on my toes.

Although I was in a very nice massage chair, it was a little difficult to enjoy the overall massage experience when the two women were chopping away at my appendages. Occasionally they would say something to each other in Vietnamese, giggle and then return to my digits. On more than one occasion they looked at each other while they continued to cut away at my fingers and toes. I have to admit that was a bit disconcerting.

After the initial cutting and dicing, they both got out the probes! The implements reminded of the dental tools Lawrence Oliver used on Roy Schneider in "Marathon Man." Madame One and Two, giggling and chatting, dug deeply under my remaining nails to dislodge the assorted grit and jam that was buried there for...let me see about 54 years. This was not a pretty sight nor a very pleasant sensation.

After successfully dislodging many years of unmentionable stuff, both Madames moved onto the filing. This I was not prepared for! It was uncomfortable and had the same affect that a dental cleaning has on me. It caused my nose to itch and left me with sore toes and fingers. Again, there was more chatting and giggling along the way.

They completed the procedure by pushing back my negligent cuticles and buffing my nails. They concluded the experience with lotion and massages for my hands and feet. This, not surprisingly, was the best part. They nodded and told me I was done. I tipped each of them $5 and they smiled. I got up and put on my sandals and looked down to admire my newly reconstituted hands and feet. I must admit they looked a lot better than when I came in about 20 minutes ago.

On 1 to 10 scale, I give Charmin Nails and Madame One and Two an 8. They clearly were artisans in their own right and were very patient with me. I'm sure they have worked on far worse customers. I was probably good for conversation for a few days.

Would I return to the land of foot probes, grinding tools and nail clippers? I'm not sure. I did not find the experience relaxing. Much of it was alien and uncomfortable.

Whenever I hear women talk about getting a pedicure or a manicure as part of a day of pampering and relaxation, I will remember that women handle pain far better than men. They give birth and we watch football. Perhaps appendage probing is the final line of demarcation that separates women from boys. I just didn't expect that good grooming would be so painful!

My short hair friends, the Palm Springs basenjis, seem to enjoy by newly reconstituted feet!