Yesterday I was supposed to hike up to Timpanogos cave
with this blogger.
Would you look at all those boys...we probably won't find much in common... but still, I have been looking forward to her visit for many weeks and was so happy to hear her say, "Hi Boy Mom. Almost happy enough to ignore the burning in my chest with each breath and hike 1.5 miles straight up to walk through a cold, damp cave, before yelling at 12 boys to slow down for 1.5 miles straight down. It actually was my fear of not being able to yell in my usual grating "That Woman" voice that really made me say, "I'd better not." And, we'll be getting together on the 10th for a local parade.
So, to make good on my excuse I popped over to the Instacare and was told that it could be pleurisy which, apparently is diagnosed by squeezing on a persons ribs while bending them into various pretzel shapes; or, pneumonia, diagnosed by nodding and looking concerned. Seriously Doc, could you break out the stethoscope and listen for a sec? I'll be leaving you a couple hundred bucks, lets just say, it's the least you could do.
A few days ago #6 asked me, "Mom, are you still a doctor?" My three littles think working at the hospital makes me a doctor. Being a doctor comes in handy at times like this, I considered my symptoms and prescribed a pedicure. Cute toes can cure anything.
At my favorite pedicure place there were massaging chair to massaging chair people, I'd have to wait...What? Did I mention it's MY pedicure place? I glared at the nearest customers and headed to another pedi-place close by.
Walking into a new pedicure place is nerve wracking, you can almost hear the nail fungi growing. I'm known at MY place, I can chat or not, I know who gives the best massage, when to switch feets... it's never a good feeling to realize three steps inside the new place that A) you're the one and only customer and B) the blinds are down, presumably to keep out the summer sun. The sound track from Psycho began playing in my head.
I never worked out where the two male employees accents were from, they didn't talk much. The one who didn't jump up and grab me sat in a pedi-chair watching a show about a prison in Peru. Uhhh, maybe a different channel would attract another customer or make the ONE you've got feel a bit less like the victim in a movie produced by the police department.
The short little fellow who did grab me said, "How I help you, Mam?"
"I'd like a pedicure." I had been thinking of getting lime green glitter toes.
"You pick color" He pointed.
"French! Yes. OK you sit here!"
The rest of the French pedicure was communicated with taps and pointing. Until the massage on the second leg. I have a large birthmark on the front of the calf. "What happen skin?" He demanded loudly making me jump.
"It's a birthmark, it will fade as you rub it."
"AAAAhhhhaaaaaa" He rubbed and pointed like a kid pleased with a new toy. The Psycho music was back.
Silence again except for the Peru prisoners cheering their team at an inter-prison soccer match.
I tried to relax by turning up the massaging chair.
Suddenly he spoke again "YOU Toes, good circulation, sometimes no circulation, toes YEWHH! (he made a face to show his disgust). You toes...(he nodded his head and gave me two thumbs up)
I guessed that was a big compliment but didn't want to get lulled into a false sense of safety. I leaned my head back, waiting for my toes to dry and planned my escape, just in case.
Praise Buddah, the bell rang as another customer entered. Spanky (because despite an exorbitant amount of goo his hair stuck up in the back) touched my big toe, nodded his head, put my shoes on me, took my $30.00 dollars almost smiled at the $10.00 tip(what, it was way less then the Dr.) and nodded once more as I walked my "Two thumbs up" French toes out into the glorious sunlight, unfortunately the deep breath of summer air hurt, a lot. Guess I need Med school refresher course.
Sorry I missed the hike Lashel, looking forward to the parade.