Bring on the Botox

Unfortunately, this is a true story that occurred at my nail appointment this week. I’ve been a bi-weekly patron at this nail salon for ten years or so, and every once in a while I’m assigned to the guy nail tech. Due to the close proximity I was wearing a mask.

Our conversation began when he asked, “How did you get here today?”

What? I look at him incredulously. “What do you mean how did I get here?”

“How did you get here?” He repeated. “Who brought you?”

“Duh, I drove my car to the salon.”

“You still drive?” He looked at me with disbelief.

My sassy self took over, “Yes, I drive, and I even drive at night!”

“Hmm. How old are you?”

Since I’ve never been one to lie about my age (except when I was in college), I said I was seventy-three.

Another stunned look from my 40-45 year old, “My father’s seventy-one, and he doesn’t drive. Of course, he’s blind.”

Blind? I hope he didn’t drive! The Sun City Q-tips were bad enough.

“You know most women that come in here are driven by someone else.”

I looked around the salon. Both the pedicure and manicure stations were filled with primarily women who were at least twenty years younger. Believe me, I wanted to rebut his comment, but I replied, “Yan, you’re not going to get a tip if this conversation continues.” I laughed, but I was peeved.

In retrospect, it was a good thing I was wearing a mask. Damn, if he saw the rest of my wrinkles, he would have called me a cab. My Botox guy can easily rid my forehead of the deep crevices, and I will be sure to request anybody but Yan next time.

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