I was given a free pedicure last week. I have never had a pedicure before. I know, I can hear your shocked gasps now as you wonder how a woman could get to 29, for real, I don’t have to start faking it until next year, without experiencing the bliss of sitting with her feet in a mini bath while another person massages, softens, and moisturizes her feet and then makes the nails look pretty. I’ve asked myself this several times. Maybe it’s because we didn’t have the cash for luxuries like that when I was little, a haircut was something my mother may have been able to fit in the budget once a year, so I didn’t ever go with the girls in my family. I’m sure that’s when it started. As I got older the practical part of me wouldn’t let me pay for something so, well, frivolous, but I always hoped that perhaps someone else would think that maybe I deserved on and get it for me. I dropped really loud hints about how nice it would be at my bachelorette party if someone came and gave pedicures. My sister, who was planning it, may not have heard as she had just discovered an unexpected pregnancy two days prior at the age of 19, she was a somewhat distracted maid of honor, and nauseous. And then as time went by, more opportunities seemed to present themselves and then just fizzle away. Then I met Sonya, who has her own business giving manicures and pedicures, and insisted that I had to have one, and then tell all of my friends to go to her of course.
It was very exciting to get my feet worked on, and I have pretty dark pink toenails with little white flowers on them with those little sparkle gems for centers, and I felt so good, and valued, and all around delighted with the whole experience.
I showed the Genius Husband my pretty toes.
“What kind of nail polish did you use?”
“Uh, I don’t know, pink.”
“Oh good, so you just exposed the baby to acetone that gets absorbed into every cell of your body instantly, and the baby's, and can cause birth defects.”
Stunned silence. “Um…I guess so.”
Sonya assures me that the nail polish is formaldehyde free but she doesn’t know about thalates, which are the things that I later found out when I read up on it that are bad for babies.
So now every time I look at my pretty feet I experience a mixture of guilt and pleasure, because they are pretty, and I may have damaged my baby getting them that way.