This post is not about a cocktail.
Today was living proof why I refuse to visit a nail salon in the winter months. The fingers and toes desperately needed attention to prepare for my upcoming photo shoot later this week. Tomorrow will be a warmer day (in the 60s), but my schedule is full. So, today was the day.
It may be March, but it’s cold right now in Manhattan. Feels like the 30s, which is no weather for bare skin. I bundled and walked South late this afternoon toward Pinky at 80th & Broadway. It was empty. Obviously, it’s too cold for everyone else today too.
It’s been about six months since my last pedi, and longer than that since my last mani. The whole procedure took more than an hour plus drying time. When I left the salon, I looked like one of those silly people who wears flip flops in the dead of winter. Actually, I was one of those silly people wearing flip flops in the dead of winter. Suddenly, I understood why those people wear flip flops in the dead of winter, and now those people aren’t so silly any longer.
I ran across Broadway to grab some dinner at Zabar’s. Two tilapias, and one package of shrimp cocktail later, I left and it was completely dark, and even colder. Hmmm. Ten blocks is an easy walk when dressed appropriately, but not while sporting thong shoes in the chill zone. I couldn’t reach into my bag for my gloves or my hat either. Damn nails! I had forgotten how inconvenient manicures and pedicures can be.
Taxis are a splurge, but tonight, one was in order. I bolted a block over to West End and waited, but the yellow transit was no where to be found. I started walking. After about three blocks, I couldn’t feel my fingers or my toes. My pale pink nails adorned my bright red phalanges. My toes resembled my cheeks when I’ve stood outside for too long. “Where are all of the bleepin’ cabs in this town?” I should have stayed on Broadway. Meanwhile, I passed dozens of people as my flops snapped with each step, and of course not a soul glanced at my frozen tootsies. What does it take to get attention in this crazy city? Purple toes about to crack and fall off?
I approached 86th Street, and yellow cars started to fly by me. What’s the point now? I’m just a few blocks from home. If I suck it up a little longer, I’ll be in the warmth of my apartment.
That was the quickest walk home from Zabar’s in history. Now I understand why I don’t get manicures, and especially pedicures during the cold months. It’s definitely a warm-weather activity.
My next visit will be in April. It will be springtime in New York, and the perfect season for a mani-pedi. Now that they’re thawed, my hands and feet look forward to it.