The Run-Up

photo by 2012


After deciding to be a higher-maintenance bride than I had theretofore intended, I further decided that on March 1st (St. David’s Day, as any self-respecting Welsh person or otherwise follower of my blogs past and present would know), I would take a personal day. It might be quite nice to take a personal day for St. David’s Day, but I had other tasks at hand.

The first, it turned out, being to shovel snow. Honestly. We get a freak snowstorm that “outens the lights” (as the Pennsylvania Dutch supposedly say) for days at the end of October, and then there’s hardly any winter for the rest of the winter, until the day the BroFam is scheduled to fly in for my wedding. I knew it was very entitled-acting of me and everything (an attitude I greatly dislike in other people), but I “bridezilla’d” away at God as I shoveled the walk after walking Oscar. Seriously? You make me wait until I’m nearly 40 to meet the man I’m going to marry, and then you screw up the weather so my only brother and his wife who’s throwing me a party and his adorable children who are the closest things I have to attendants can’t safely fly in? Thanks a lot!

Mutter mutter mutter. Am I ever glad God is more patient with self-absorbed people than I am. Also that weather didn’t stop Him getting the BroFam here safely and without even a dramatic-yet-boring story of plane delays which are familiar fare when one travels in the winter between the Midwest and the Northeast.

In the meantime, though, it was snowing, and I didn’t know that all would be well, and sometime after I shoveled the walk, I had to dig out my car so I could drive to the Hairdresser Down the Street to take care of those prolific hair follicles I have previously mentioned. I won’t go into all the details, except to say that the two young women scheduled to attend to me were wonderful, personable people, and that it’s a good thing they were, because due to a lack of supplies, what should have been an hour appointment turned into almost three. By the time I got out it was already time to get my nails done.

I was looking forward to that. Pedicures are so relaxing, and manicures are relatively painless, and also, almost as if they knew, I had gotten another frequent-buyer free drink coupon from Starbucks. I had to go near Starbucks to get to the nail place (or at least it wasn’t too out of the way to do so); therefore my plan was to get myself the biggest peppermint mocha I could, head over to the nail salon to which I had been given a gift certificate, and let my stress melt away while I sipped minty, chocolatey goodness and had my feet massaged.

The first part of this plan went okay. I got my free drink and found the salon, but when I got there, even though I had booked an appointment, the place was dark and the door was locked and I hadn’t been notified, dang it! Oops. There was bridezilla again. I decided not to rage at God about this one, but I did call Mom-Elizabeth (who is not old enough to be my mother, but she is a mother, and very generally motherly. In a good way), who had helped provide the gift certificate. “Look,” she said. “There are two other nail salons right down the street. Go to one of those. I’ll reimburse you. Then when you want to go again, we’ll use your gift certificate together.” (This works because my Girl Friends got me enough for two nail visits. Because my friends are amazing like that.)

I got out at the first place I came to. I opened the door, stuck my head in and almost took it right back out again. If I had had time to think about it, I would have been sure that I would die of asphyxiation due to the smell of chemicals in there. But . . . it was a snowy day and though this salon was open unlike the last one, there was no one in it except the proprietress, who, more quickly than I could think about asphyxiation, said, “hellocomeincanihelpyoutoday?” I’m a lousy liar to begin with, and besides, there was no way I could pretend she was talking to someone else even if I were a good one. So I told her yes, she could.

It turned out that, though I probably did inhale and absorb plenty of carcinogens, the actual smell stopped being very noticeable after only a couple of minutes. It turned out that this woman was very friendly and did a terrific job on all 20 of my nails (the polish is still on all of them, even). It turned out that I was able to drink my minty, chocolatey goodness while having my feet massaged after all. And it turned out that when I finally got home that night, the BroFam pulled into the driveway right behind me.

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