one grande java chip frappuccino with a side of toenail polish

You know I never did some stuff (see: post from last week) and naturally some people took that to mean I'd created some sort of funky bucket list that involved following NASCAR and knocking down wedding guests so I could catch a bridal bouquet. Au contraire. Nevertheless, prodding came from all corners to quit being a fuddy duddy about my toenails. My neighbor gal, J, invited me out for ice cream-coffee drinks and pedicures to help celebrate her birthday. "Go! You must go!" everyone encouraged.

Well, here you go, readers.

I began the day with reasonably clean feet and picked up J after lunch.

toes in the buff

We arrived at Starbucks and J explained the different drink categories. After much discussion while studying at the menu board, I decided to copy my friend Sarah's daughter and order something called "Java Chip." Totally copying J, I ordered a "grande java chip frappuccino." Naturally this led to the barista asking more questions--"Whole milk? 2 percent? Skim? Soy?" "Whipped Cream?" Obligating with the "routine" of a Starbucks counter, I filled in the blanks, including, I think, my blood type, athletic shoe brand preference and marital status.

Eventually this arrived:

Smooth, creamy, I confess I should've gone with another flavor because those little java chips kept lodging in my throat like tiny pills. It was yummy, but not unlike a chocolate milkshake. People, the jury is out. I like coffee and I like ice cream, but they don't need to be mixed together for any particular benefit that I can fathom.

After sitting at an outside table and enjoying our cups o' frothy sweetness, we headed toward the beauty school where our side-by-side chairs awaited us.


The chairs had massage features (nice!) and the hot bath felt pretty relaxing on my feet. The photo above is of J's feet. Note her pedicurist's long blonde hair--it was really remarkable hair. My pedicurist (M, a nice gal from North Carolina who was seeking a career change from her gig as a CNA at a nursing home) was only in the nails program, her hair was nothing to get excited about.


Here's the little tub for my feet. Yes, those are my Germanic calves framing the shot, lending the entire photo a p*rnographic quality I just now notice.

The view from our chairs was really nice.


After much soaking and exfoliating and disinfecting, some clipping and filing took place. I thought the sloughing with the big file would feel worse than it did--really wasn't an unpleasant sensation. My cuticles (I have them on my toes? I had no idea!) were softened, pushed back and trimmed. Massaging, rubbing, scraping and polishing took place. My feet never looked quite so clean and pink before.


Then the pedicurist painted them.

I confess, every time I look down, my toes make me smile. Kind of like when you see a monkey wearing a dress. It's unexpected, you never thought the monkey looked naked before, but now with a dress it looks sort of cute.

I have cute toes.

Cute, robin's egg blue toes. On Green Girl feet.


My verdict? A pedicure is a relaxing treat and, unlike getting a facial or massage, you get to actually see the results which in my view adds bang for your buck. Will I get another? I imagine I will. Will I always paint my toes? Highly unlikely. Am I glad I did this? Yes, I am. Thanks, J, for a fun afternoon--and happy birthday!

(J's toes look elegant--she opted for OPI Red.)

Posted in: great accomplishments in history, i feel pretty--oh so pretty, ice cream, still living and learning, the rest of the story