The Land Of Pretty

Once upon a time I was deliciously high-maintenance. I spent lots of money to keep up the appearance of an attractive woman. The $200 highlights, pedicure and acrylic nail fill every 2 weeks, monthly eyebrow and Brazilian waxing, tanning salon trips topped with self-tan cream galore. Its a good thing I worked in prestige cosmetics and was given more than I could possibly use or I would have squandered the farm on face creams and makeup as well! I spent plenty of time in the salon. The beauty parlor is a phenomena in and of itself. It is not only a place to leave looking better than when you came in, but is a place to unwind, relax, and know that you are doing something decadent and purely for yourself. It is a symbol of bonding female sensibilities. It is (or was before life could be conducted on a cell phone) a place to let your tensions melt away as your manipulated fingers were filed and nails formed or hot wax slathered onto your skin and hair painfully ripped from your body. Its a necessarily luxurious break from the demands we as women endure, be it from significant others, children, work or the myriad of other expectations that fill our plates. Since becoming ill the beauty parlor has become less and less of a presence until it finally fell away almost entirely. I still get my hair cut 2x a year, big whoopee do.

My best friend, feeling sorry for pathetic little 'ole me, gave me the awesome Christmas gift of a mani/pedi! It had been so long... So I prettied myself up and used GPS for the first time (it rocks!) to navigate my way to the hand and foot spa where she had a gift certificate waiting for me. I entered the long-forgotten environment of the salon and waited to be called. While waiting I observed the other women, some in their business suits or medical scrubs, a few mom-daughter duo's, a sprinkling of high-school girls, and reflected back to a time when life at the salon was a standing appointment. It was hard to break through the pain and years and put myself back there, for before the pain and fatigue life was normal. I did not know it then, and laugh at what sweetly innocent me deemed "problems". I did not know I was carrying on a life I would become unable to live because of an illness I got at the age of 28. The irony of the lessons I have learned and person I have become because of Fibromyalgia was not lost on me, and it was a nice reminder of how carefree life once was. I  sure enjoyed the pampering and left with sparkling toes and shiny finger nails. Besides not having to break my back self-pedicuring I enjoyed the experience of it all, enjoyed remembering and putting the beauty parlor in proper perspective of my life. I have put that part of me away for now, but am a do-it-yourself girl dreaming of the day I get to become salon dependent once again.

Thanks for joining,
Leah

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