Mani/Pedis

I think because the health laws in the state of New York are different than those in Georgia, a mani/pedi in Atlanta —is a real mani/pedi—rivaling my experience in even the most expensive spa/salons. The salon I frequent with Kara uses razors like the utensil I use for slicing cheese. They also put your hands in plastic bags and squeeze some magic goo on them to be followed by a heat wrap. My cuticles fall off like slowly cooked Osso Bucco.

If I got weighed before and after my mani/pedi there were be a half pound differential—all of it would dead skin. A special red bag is need for its disposal---it is deemed medical waste.

The only problem is that I do not patronize the salon enough to know the routine as it differs from June Nail. I am awkward. I gush at each stage of the process. The Philippine women who run it are a bit short tempered with me. I frustrate them. I do not get the sense that they enjoy their profession very much. And they do not appreciate my humor nor the shabby condition of my hands and feet.  I feel obligated to tell them that I am visiting from New York where spa treatments are not as fastidious.

But they do not seem to care.

And so visiting Atlanta is the only destination I travel to where I do not get a mani/pedi before my departure. I always make certain to incorporate a salon visit into my stay. Because not only do my hands and feet look lovelier and  more youthful than they would have here in New York, I get to enjoy the experience with my baby girl---and nothing bonds a mother daughter more than oogling over prettily painted and manicured hands and feet---and debating which nail color wears better--- OPI or Essie.