Your car seems to drive itself to the nail salon. You remove your keys from the ignition and stare a moment at the Pretty Girl Nails sign, wondering if this was stupid. Still, you get out and trudge inside.
"Hi" shouts a middle-aged Asian woman. "You have appointment?"
"Uh, no." Definitely stupid. You turn to leave.
"That's okay! We not busy. Come in, come in." She motions you into the salon. You hesitate, but her resolve is much stronger than yours. You let her usher you past the reception desk. You note that she was correct about it not being busy, likely because it is near closing time. But the lady appears unconcerned about that.
"What you want? she demands.
What do you want? Nothing offered in a nail salon. But for now, um... "Maybe a... pedicure?"
"You have bad day?"
"Uh, yeah." Wow, she is astute.
"No problem! Sit in chair. We fix bad day here. We give you happy day. Happy Day Nails. We fix bad day. Put your feet in the water."
As you slip your feet into the warm water, they gently graze the marbles on the bottom, giving the soles of your feet a gentle massage. You lean back.
"Good, good! You relax like that. Get chair massage." She hits a button on the control panel, and the chair begins to move behind you, working out the knots in your back. She scuttles off. You exhale, soaking your feet, soaking in the moment. You consider paying the pedicure fee just to let you sit here. But just as you begin to wonder if that is exactly what she is going to do, she is back with her supplies.
"I pick some colors for you. You like one of these? If you don't like, I go get more."
At this point, color matching is far from your mind. But the peach is pretty, so you point to it. She frowns at your outstretched finger. "We do manicure too." You open your mouth, but then realize it was not a question. You settle back into your chair as she lifts your foot and begins to apply a sweet-smelling scrub.
"So what happened? Bad day at work?"
"Well, yes. I—"
"Always work. People work too much. People worry too much about work. Now you are here. Work is done. Forget about work. You can be at work tomorrow, later. Not now. Now you relax. Relax!" You realize your calf tensed up as you began to talk. You release your muscles, letting her work. As her expert hands move along your foot, you decide you are glad you didn't ask her to leave you alone.
The pedicure continues with your toenails being trimmed and your callouses filed, which is a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Then your legs are wrapped in hot towels, and afterward rubbed with lotion. Finally, the nail polish is applied. She finishes just as the chair massage ends.
"Good' You come here. Sit here in chair." You debate whether you really want to go to the manicure chair as you sit there in a massage coma. But then again, she is telling, not asking. So you obey.
And you are glad. She massages your hand, which you hadn't even realized was holding tension. And the thought that your sorry-looking nails will look nice is relaxing in itself.
"Natural or acrylic?"
Shoot, decisions. But she spots your indecision and makes the choice for you. "Your nails not so bad. We do natural." You nod. "Same color?" You nod again. "Good choice. Very pretty color. You look at your hands, look at your feet, you feel pretty, feel happy. Happy Day Nails."
You are beginning to feel happy. The name you thought cheesy when you arrived in your funk you now realize is genius. As impossible as it seemed an hour ago, you really are starting to have a happy day. Work somehow seems less important now. Right now you are here, in this moment. And the moment is good.
All too soon, the moment is over. But then, it isn't. Your manicure is done. Your pedicure is done. But that sense of relaxation, of reordered priorities, of focusing on you now, doesn't go away.
The lady - the salon owner, you realize - knows this, and grins at you. "You come back soon, OK? Don't wait for bad day. Any day can be a Happy Day."
Any day can be a happy day.
