I'm going to get a pedicure this afternoon.
I've never had one before, and I don't know what to expect. I made sure to shave my legs, I don't know if a leg massage is involved and I didn't want to gross any nail techs out. Well, that and I'm wearing capris. Hairy legs and capris, they don't mix. But this pedicure thing is new. I was sitting with my feet in the pool at the daycare provider's house one afternoon after work last week while Freyja swam (okay, she didn't so much swim as float around in a blow-up dolphin) with Kerwin. DCP and I were chatting and she said she had to go get a pedicure before her son's open house (which is tomorrow). I mentioned that I had never had a pedicure (GASP), and the next thing I know we have a date.
I am just NOT the "type" (is there a type?) that gets pedicures. I paint my toenails, sure. Myself. With strange, bright colors. I haven't worn makeup since January, and the biggest concessions I make to my girly side is a haircut every six weeks (and this is not even a year-old ritual) and a dye job every four. The haircut I get at BoRics, and the dye I do myself. Low-maintenance.
But as I think about that seven pound weight loss and the next three years (my conservative estimate) that it will take to lose the rest, I think that it might be fun to do some things that are considered "girly". It might be nice to buy some more feminine clothing (once I can fit into it). I've always been that chick in jeans, a ponytail, and birkenstocks. Girly was never my M.O. I got my man by my brains, personality and my persistence (becuase DAMN was that boy an internet ho!), not with perfect hair, pretty makeup, and ladylike manners.
I kind of want those ladylike manners. I kind of want the girly stuff - for me. Not for anybody else, but for me. Yet I don't want to lose myself, nor can I get past my desire to tell society at large to eff off. It's a fine line. Maybe I'm just "growing up".