Hmmm. Perhaps.

I might need a new manicurist.

This place lured me in with their specials, their rewards card, their convenience. But that might not be enough.

She cut my toe as she began the pedicure. Cut my toe. Blood.

She quickly began applying this blue glue, a gel that works as a quick cure band aid. She kept casting quick glances my way to see if I noticed my own injury.

"What is that?" I asked, feeling a sense of rightful ownership of my foot.

"Oh, eets okay. It fine."

It fine.

She did paint a lovely design on my toes, one which the boys believe is the Diet Pepsi logo. Could be, really. Great environmental literacy, gentlemen.

As she worked on my nails, a relaxing (?) luxury I allow myself every other week, a fly buzzed between the two of us. I casually blew it away as it landed on or around me. But she finally had enough.

Suddenly, she shouted, "Zaaaah! Zaaaah!"

And if that were not alarming enough, she raised a paper towel roll over her head and aimed it at me. I kid you not. She was ready to pop me with her paper towels, in an effort to get that fly.

I ducked. (Can you blame me?)

I think the fly took his cue. I don't remember him coming back. But that could be because I was distracted by the fact that she was picking her own acryllic nails off while my polish was drying.

I've never had acryllic nails, but I feel pretty safe in saying that I don't think the standard procedure for removal is to wedge something underneath the nail and forcefully pluck it off, leaving glue and debris behind on the nailbed.

I mean, I can't be sure. I just don't think that's how it goes.

As the other patrons left, I was the only one to remain. The other manicurists gathered around our station, telling stories in another language (stories that seemed to evoke strong, pouding emotion from each other).

And as they spoke, they shelled and munched on pumpkin seeds. They nibbled away on them like squirrels on acorns, taking itsy bites with their front teeth. They cracked and chiseled at the shells, letting them fall to the floor.

p.s. Last month, she attended me while she stayed on the phone with a creditor. An angry phone call, complete with her bill laying in front of me. Let's just say it's not good for one's cuticles if her manicurist is angry.

(I might need a new place.)