This is how I found myself rapping The Black Eyed Peas' "Where's the Love" at a Karaoke place in downtown Portland. And accepting three callings. And going on a Relief Society campout with complete strangers.
And, despite my worst doubts, fears, and anxieties, at the age of 26 I said yes to my first manicure and pedicure. I am in Texas for the Christie & Steven bash of 2012, and amid Target errands and getting lost within the depths of Houston, Christie and I found time to "relax."
I understand that the point of a manicure and pedicure is to be lavished upon with soft hands and lotions and to transform shabby nails into glowing I-just-got-my-nails-done beauties. But for some reason I have always dreaded the thought of someone staring at my hands and feet, judging my every cuticle. And touching me.
Most importantly the touching.
I think this dread all began with a full-body massage I had
You see, I'm incredibly ticklish. There is a small 4"x4" square in the center of my back, a large portion of my head, and a tiny strip of my shins that aren't ticklish. Everything else is ticklish. Everything.
I tried to relax.
She kept hitting my back, yelling "relax, relax!!!" And the more I tried to will myself to relax, the more tense I became. I dreaded her hands moving beyond the small square of safety in the center of my back. I winced every time she got close to my shoulders or sides. I clenched my teeth. I was near tears.
It was the longest hour of my life.
With this experience in my back pocket, I put on a brave face for my mani/pedi. Not only did I survive, but it was actually quite pleasant. And, I must say, my nails do look like glowing I-just-got-my-nails-done beauties.