TOGETHERNESS AT THE NAIL SPA

Between arthritic fingers, a bum shoulder, lower back aches and fading vision, Mr. Wonderful was not having an easy time chopping off his lengthy toenails. 

NOT that I make a point of witnessing his personal grooming habits. Mother of God!

We watch Netflix series and play golf together, but joining him as he clips his Fu Manchus is not on my Top Ten. It was hearing the tortured moans and shouts of “OUCH!” and “Jee-sus Kee-rist” that made me march into the bathroom and say, “That’s it. We’re going to get pedicures.”

I’m partial to pedicures. Mr. W. had never had one in his entire four score and six years. You would think I suggested he get acupuncture in his eyeballs. “Absolutely no way, I’m not doing that,” he said. “Don’t go there.”

So I made the appointment. 

And then pointed out that the current state of his toenails could do significant damage to my 300-count Yves Delorme sheets, not to mention the healthy benefits of groomed feet. His monosyllabic responses did not deter me!

Late Monday afternoon, we walked into the Nail Spa in Kennebunk. I assumed (and hoped) the normally bustling salon would be nearly empty at that hour. Alas, sitting right next to the front door in the first station was a dear friend and neighbor who somehow managed to pick up her jaw before gasping, “Bob? Is that you??” 

I quickly steered us to big comfy reclining chairs way in the back and we settled in. Mr. W leaned over and whispered, “They better not go anywhere near my cuticles.” I looked at him and asked, “WHAT is so special about your cuticles? They’re going to do a lot more than that.”

Over the next 45 minutes, I snuck peeks at him while the male nail tech filed his big toe, scraped his heels and rubbed hot lava rocks up and down his calf. “Isn’t that the best?” I asked. No commitment. No comment either. Just a nod and utter silence as he glued his eyes to the screen of his iPhone and continued to read email.

The next morning after getting out of bed, I said, “Now how do your feet feel today?” He answered, “You know, not so bad actually. The first 10 minutes of the pedicure were fine. But then, all that fluffy stuff, like hot lava rocks and leg massage cream, I’m not so sure about that.”

Truthfully, I understand his hesitation about walking into a primarily female domaine. I don’t think I’d be comfortable hanging around a men’s barber shop. I’m also reluctant to sit at a bar all by myself waiting for a friend. Plus, when you figure that only 15% of men aged 55 and older have EVER had a pedicure, I’m proud that Mr. W didn’t bolt and go sit in the car. 

So I haven’t made another appointment for him quite yet. But this wasn’t his last pedicure, that I can assure you.