Of course, now Margie and her daughters, the dog sitters at My Other Mommy, Inc want a plug for their business since I mentioned them the other day, so here you go cuz I love ya, Margie.
I, myself, was feeling very verklempt earlier.
We’re leaving tomorrow morning, bound for NC, so naturally I had to get my nails done.
One can’t face one’s family with raggedy-ass nails or bad hair, everyone who’s anyone knows that, and I got my hair cut and colored before I left home, so check one.
The problem began after John made an appointment for me at the Resort’s spa for a French manicure, regular pedicure, and hey, why don’t we throw in a Swedish massage while we’re at it?
I came back to the room traumatized.
It seems the spa needed extra time to remove the gel polish I had from my last manicure/pedicure.
But, I cancelled my massage to give them that time anyway.
Then I was told, after all my old polish and fill was sanded away, that I couldn’t get a new fill and acrylic tips for my fingers because they didn’t do “that kind” of French manicure.
No new fill. No acrylic tips. Hell, that was the whole reason I came in the first place.
They couldn’t have told me this sooner?
My real nails are weak. They break easily.
I should have cancelled and got them done with my sister in the mountains by some nice Vietnamese girl/guy who spoke very little English but was a genius with a pink and white box fill, like I was used to.
But chicken heart that I am, I didn’t stop the lady from coating my nails with a pink so pale as to be white, and then unevenly drawing the white polish on the tips of my own, weak, fingernails.
It looks less than stellar, and I know my nails won’t last. I’m surprised they haven’t broken already.
Maybe it’s because I use a stylus to slide out my words on a G-board (I usually write this blog on my phone for that reason), and am completely unable to use my thumbs to text, so my nails never hit any keys.
It’s painful to watch me try to type out words on the phone using just my index finger.
Think three-toed sloth, only slower and with more nail polish.
I didn’t say a word to that effect, though. I even told her they looked nice.
Afterwards, in one of those things that happen to happen to me, she had to open almost every unlocked locker to help me find my stuff because I couldn’t remember where it was, only that I had locked it.
Turns out, I was facing the wrong way and my locker was on the wall to the right of the wall I was frantically opening doors on.
Thank God it was late and most of the lockers were unlocked since nobody was there.
Otherwise I might still be there, trying out my combination on locked lockers.
So, I hated my nails (the toenails were fine), and almost got lost getting from the locker room to the front (thank goodness for Exit signs is all I gotta say).
Then, I went to pay the bill.
They charged me for everything from removing my original polish to having the tips painted white.
Everything I had done was a “special add on,” or an “upgrade.” They even had two separate $20 upgrade charges for “Shellac enhancement.”
What did that even mean?
And of course the French style polish (pink beds, white tips) was extra, even though the pink beds looked like off-white beds painted on by a small child smoking crack.
$210. That’s two HUNDRED and ten dollars.
Vanity, thy name is woman.
Spinelessness, thy name is signed on the charge slip without a word of complaint or a question about even one charge and what it meant, though I had many.
Questions and charges and complaints, oh my!
I slunk out the door and back to my room where I sat huddled in a fetal position on my overstuffed Queen chair for a long while before deciding to never again get my nails done by someone who didn’t speak fluent Vietnamese, Chinese, or Korean.
I’m half-Korean, so that’s not meant to be a racial stereotype.
I’m speaking from the voice of experience.
My Asian guys and gals haven’t let me down yet. Hundreds of times I’ve gone to them, and my nails have always come out beautifully. My wallet appreciates them, too.
Fear and anxiety can be crippling and leave you feeling devastated.
Worrying about what other people think is a worthless enterprise. It can turn a potentially positive experience into one that leaves you feeling, well, traumatized.
I should have spoken up for myself today. I should have asked questions, got answers, put my foot down.
Instead, I let fear, anxiety and worry about what someone MIGHT have thought of me put me in a state of trauma for a few hours until I finally let it go.
And over what? Nails?
Don’t waste your energy on fear. Spend it on self confidence instead.
Speak up if you don’t like the way things are going. Talk.
You’d be surprised at how many people are clueless as to how you feel and are happy to help find solutions.
You ARE worth the time it takes to get a few good answers to something that’s bugging you.
Don’t settle for second best. You deserve to get exactly what you came for. Nothing less.
Believe in yourself.
Leave fear and anxiety outside the door, and know that people are going to think what they think with or without your worry.
So don’t worry.