Don’t Get Nailed
It’s Fourth of July weekend, my once-a-year opportunity to declare my independence from stilettos. If only for a day or two, I can muck about in flip-flops, which may not be terribly chic (unless they are from, say, Gucci) but are right and proper for poolside. Of course, as you see in the photo at left, I am still easing into this casual corner.
But in the summer it’s never possible to declare your independence from pedicures. And as much as I love the little nail place around the corner, where the manicurists like to watch Oprah on the plasma TV between clients, I have to say I’m a little freaked out by Paula Abdul’s recent testimony before the California legislature about the oozing, putrid infection she got from an unsanitary manicure. Yes, I know Paula’s a flake. But I also know that at a rather chichi salon that shall remain nameless, I saw my manicurist unceremoniously dump my nail clippings right onto the floor. And let’s not even talk about the horrors I’ve seen at less pricey places. (Okay, I can’t help but mention one: There was that rather obese lady with the fungal problems chowing down on a big ol’ steak sandwich while getting a pedicure. Ewww.)
Not that this should come as any surprise. I remember reading, years ago, this shocking exposé — the first of its kind really — on dirty spas and salons in Allure magazine. Ignorance is bliss, but since it’s far too late for that, I just pray every time I dip my feet into a pedicure bath that Bliss isn’t ignorant!
Related Posts:
