Tipped Off

Glen Arbor is a long way away from SoHo, y’all.
It’s 45 minutes away from the nearest Wal-Mart even.
Needless to say, it’s a long, long way away from Navy French Tips.

I drove home from my manicure Tip tapping on the steering wheel and wailing Lady
Gaga to the on coming traffic. If I’m not the hippest thang in a Buick Enclave, I’ll kiss your cold, white patootie.

And, certainly, the hippest mom to sell a Glen Lake Lakers hoodie at the football game! Am I right? Huh? Am I?   …..you can see where this is headed.....

My spirit wear selling colleague, whom I barely know and is already suspicious of my Big City Southern Fudgie ways, didn’t notice anything at first. I knew when she did because of the little “Oh!” she emitted while I was making change. I turned around expecting to see stark naked envy on her face. She was choking on her tongue trying not to laugh.

“Jeez o’Pete!”, she gasped. “Let me see your nails!”

She looked from my hand to my face like she was expecting to see Amy Winehouse or a Vegas stripper.

“Pretty sassy, huh?”, I beamed. “I just felt like doing something a little different!”

“I guess I’ve never seen something like that before.”, she murmered, smiling indulgently at me.

“It’s new! It’s very “in” right...um...now” I was starting to pick up on the vibe here.

There was no fist bump. No “Dang, sista! You are rockin’ those tips!”.
No “I’ve got to get me some of that business so I can be as cool as you, girlfriend!”.

Oh my god. What have I done? Who do I think I am? This is ridiculous. Ree. Dick. U. Luss.
I’m a middle aged Mom selling t-shirts at a freakin’ football game in a town the size of my Dallas Pilates class. Who in the hell am I kidding? Good Lord... I need a cotton ball and a bottle of acetone.

We were saved from our awkward, gaping mouth moment by a beautiful Freshman asking if we had any Smalls left. She looks at my nails. Then up at my face. Then over at the stands - no doubt, seeking salvation from one of her equally adorable covey.

(Okay. A few years ago, I was at Disney World. A teenaged FiFi walked by and I said brightly, “Hey! I have that same shirt!”
The look of horror that passed across that child’s face.... wow.
She was looking at someone’s Mother who was telling her she had the same shirt???
She gasped, grabbed her friend’s hand for support and was trying to get that shirt off her body as fast as possible. Humbling....)

My totally topped off tips were getting that same reaction right now.
The face. The choking horror.
My dawning realization that the flush I was feeling was not the flush of greatness but a hot flash working it’s way up my neck.

“Wow! Those are awesome, Mrs. Merlot.” Mrs. Merlot???

I told her I didn’t have any damn Smalls left and she should buy the Large now and put it in her closet because one day, before she knows it, she will puff up like a blowfish and the only things that will fit her are shoes and purses and then she will be forced to desperately try to recapture her youth by slapping on some ridiculously trendy shit on her nails.

It just looked so cute on the [key word] girl sitting next to me........



Aside: It took me over two weeks to get back to CJ and my boring old Mom Mani. During that time, everyone got a big laugh, I made a new friend at the Spirit Booth and the kids admitted that they did think it was kinda cool. I mean, they weren’t posing for pictures with me or anything, but I think they might be starting to get used to me.

Gettin' Tippy

It just looked so cute on the girl sitting next to me.

I was getting my nails done and she had this dead sexy red - just on the tips.
Like a French manicure? But with color? So more of a Naughty French Maid vibe.

As sassy as I like to think I am, I tend to keep the Ho on the Down Low.
French tips on the nails - Hooker Red on the toes.
I figure if someone is looking that close at my feet, they have a little nasty thang goin' anyway, right? I make their day.

The truth is, I wave my hands around a lot when I talk.
If there's color on there, people start getting all glassy-eyed and try to follow the streaks flashing through the air.
I worry they aren't really listening to me.
I worry they are starting to get hypnotized.
I worry about whether or not they've ever dropped acid and what is the proper etiquette when a PTA mom has a flashback in the middle of pie and coffee.

But those nails….. I don't know….. they were kinda speaking to me.
They were saying things about adventure and spontaneity, reckless youth and whole days without Ibuprofen.

"I'm kinda diggin' Sue's nails.", I said, casually, to CJ, my hunky MANicurist. "What do you think?"

"It's new. She does black sometimes, too. Wanna do it?", he ventured.

"Oh Lord, no - I'm too old. I'm really not that hip. I could never commit to a color. Way to old."

I kept up in this vein for a good five minutes until CJ stilled his mighty file and said, "It's paint."

Good point - the paint. Not a tattoo. Not a life choice. Paint.

And still, it took me two more trips. Two more exposures to Sue's completely cool nails.
(Black the next time, "shattered" silver after that.)

"Let's do this thing", I told CJ, with much boldness and bravado.

"Atta girl - pick a color!" and he pointed me to the Wall of Choices.

I'm walking. I'm walking. The Wall is getting farther and farther away. I swear I see twin girls standing in front of it. I'm waiting for one of them to whisper "Redrum. Redrum."
I look back at CJ, my panic evident. He rolled his eyes and possibly mumbled "Oh, for the love of God…" under his breath. Or maybe "Redrum". God knows he was thinking it.

Okay, so red goes with everything. But it's a little obvious. I already have these naughty little piggies working.
Black is damn sassy but I'm a 45 year old mother. That’s trying too hard. Next thing you know I'll have a toe ring.
Blue? Kind of sassy - kind of safe. A little childish. I think I saw a 5 year old with blue nails yesterday.
What if I call it "Navy"? That's classy sounding….
Navy says, "I'm wearing a Ralph Lauren blazer now but in the '80's I was all Devo, baby."
Oh yeah. I am makin' a statement now, by crackie!

Overthinking? Perhaps.

And, of course, there is no "Navy" so I make CJ mix two colors to get the exact level of classy-sassy a girl like me requires.
His eye is twitching but he's a trooper.
I already make him crazy with the PInk & White and the buffing when everyone knows Shellac is the way to go.

By now, the entire salon is invested in this decision.
The "entire salon" being three technicians giving two manicures to septuagenarians and one pedicure to a diabetic who just hauled himself out of the scooter.
To say I had the floor is an understatement. To say it was due to my comic timing is an overrstatement.
This was big entertainment for a Tuesday afternoon. At Meijer.
(oh! did you think I was at FiFi's FooFoo Salon? Nope. Best mani in town is just a slab of glass away from the checkout line, baby!)

 
So. Much ado and 20 minutes later, I was tipped and hip and ready to show the world just how fashion-forward I can be!

I sashayed through my shopping, clicking my New Nails on the cart handle the whole way.






I felt young and hip and ready to whirl off on an adventure at the drop of a hat!
What's this? A new Rubbermaid line? Purple handles on the storage bins? Oh hell yes!!!  I am so getting that.


That was Day One - Hour One.

Then I got back to Glen Arbor.

…..to be continued......