Pedicure, thy name is torture

I just had the most amazingly awkward pedicure ever. Sorry, let me clarify: It was simultaneously amazing and awkward.

For the record, I hate pedicures. I only get them when I have no other choice, like when I’m going to be in a wedding. Like my own wedding. Why? Because I’m insanely ticklish. And I don’t mean “ha-ha” ticklish. I mean “I-am-being-tortured-and-will-do-anything-to-make-it-stop” ticklish.

Pedicures are not fun for insanely ticklish people. One time, when I had no other choice but to endure one, I flinched so violently that my flip flop whipped across the room and hit somebody. True story.

So today I decided to get one because, without being gross and revealing TMI, I REALLY needed one. This sweet older lady sat me down in one of the pedicure chairs. She was all smiles. I was not. I told her that I was very ticklish, so please (for the love of everything holy) keep that in mind. She smiled and told me not to worry. She’d be gentle.

She started in. And it was… glorious. Amazing. Unticklish. She had the hands of Michelangelo, but instead of painting or sculpting, she pedicured. I didn’t flinch once. It actually—and I know this is insanity—felt good.

Now to the awkward part—she kept looking at me. And asking me if it felt good. Like 100 times. I appreciate that she was making sure I wasn’t going ballistic deep down inside, but after a while I got a little, I don’t know, distressed.

I mean, what do you do when someone is staring at you? Pretend they’re not? Stare at your feet? Look all around? I did all of those things.

And then she turned on the massage part of the pedicure chair. I HATE the massage part. I always feel like such an idiot sitting there with the roller balls pushing me back and forth. There’s no possible way to look cool when THAT’S going on behind you.

With all that staring and the massage, it just got too much for me to handle. So I closed my eyes. I don’t like closing my eyes in public. Wow, I just read that back and that is totally weird.

Anyhoo, the pedicure eventually came to an end. The nice lady gave me her card. And now I have quite a dilemma: Should I go back to her and get the most AMAZING pedicure I’ve ever had but endure the social awkwardness of it? Or go to someone else, grit my teeth through the whole thing, BUT keep my comfort level in the green to blue zone, Homeland Security style. Decisions, decisions.