Yesterday afternoon I was indulging in a little pampering with a manicure and pedicure at a nail salon in a nearby town. I was in town for a meeting and thought I would just make a day of it. After enjoying a wonderful lunch and conversations with friends from my meeting, I headed off for my nail appointment. While there, I got to engage in one of my favorite past times - people watching. I like to see what goes on around me and I find people and their "stories" interesting.
When I first came in, there was a gaggle of young girls, probably around 8 or 9, who were there getting pedicures. I assumed from the looks of things that they were at the salon for one of their birthdays, although it was not immediately clear which one of them was the birthday girl. And that may not have been their "story", but in my mind it was a good explanation and I simply filled in from there. The girls soon left and other people filed in and took their places among the pedicure chairs and the tall chairs at the manicure bar. While waiting in the pedi chair, I noticed an older gentleman come in. This seemed a little out of place but then I heard him mention that he was bringing his wife in for an appointment and he would be back. I didn't take much notice at first and went back to enjoying my massage chair and the movie that was on the television in front of me.
Shortly, my pedicure was finished and my freshly polished toes and I were moved over to the tall bar with the gilded chairs for my manicure. During this process the elderly gentleman had returned, along with his wife. She was in a wheelchair and he maneuvered her over to a lower table that was a better height for her. She had light brown hair with a reddish tint and was wearing a tan trench coat. The man explained to the manicurist, the same one who had applied my chosen color of Chick Flick Cherry a few moments earlier, that his wife wanted the same color as the last time she was there. The wife looked hesitantly up at her husband, who quickly and gently reassured her that everything was fine and he would be right over on the bench against the wall at the front of the salon. It was then that I noticed the wife's reply was a little garbled and wondered to myself if she had suffered a stroke.
In the short time it took for this exchange to take place, my new manicurist appeared and began the process for my gel manicure. I focused my attention on him and our conversation about the preferred length of my nails, my chosen color, and the other options that a manicure entails. While my manicurist went about filing, shaping, and polishing my nails, I stole a glance over at the husband at the front of the room near the large picture window. He was elderly, with thinning grey hair, wearing a grey sweater. He had a rolled up newspaper in his hand which he had been carrying the whole time. He read the paper for a bit and took an offered glass of rose' from one of the receptionists.
There had been some anticipation and hurried readying among the staff for a large party that was to come in. Towards the end of my manicure, the party began to trickle in. It was a group of 12 college students who had booked the salon for the rest of the evening. The manager busied herself with taking care of the girls, getting each of them their special glasses of rose' with cotton candy draped on a stick across the top of the glass. The manager offered to play a movie for the girls and I believe "Legally Blonde" and some other chick flicks were suggested. "Legally Blonde" won out and the familiar theme song was soon emanating from the TV screen. I heard one of the other manicurists explaining to her customer that the girls were seniors at a local university and were each in the Honors College and were involved in some other groups together. They wanted to celebrate the end of the semester that was approaching and decided on some pampering and girl time at the salon. I was amused by the girls. Their conversations were amusing to me and it struck me that just a few short years ago, or at least what seems like a few short years, I was just like them. But now that seems foreign to me.
While I was musing over the college girls, the elderly husband walked back to where his wife was wrapping up her manicure. She seemed to be mildly distressed about something, which turned my attention back to them. Her husband reassured her that everything was alright, thanked the manicurist for the job he had done, and began to wheel her away from the lower table and back towards the front of the salon to pay. I was in line in front of them and saw while I was walking away that the wife's nails had a fresh coat of polish in a pretty shade of red. It took all I had to keep from crying while watching their exchanges and the way their love and care for one another was so evident. I was much more interested in the elderly couple than I was the 12 college students with their somewhat shallow choice in movies. At this point in my life, I identify more with a couple who are clearly living out the marriage vows of "for better or worse, in sickness and in health" that I myself promised only 5 months ago. I thought, as I walked out of the shop and stole one last surreptitious glance at the couple, that I certainly hoped Watson would be patient and caring enough to take me for manicures when we are older if that would make me happy and help me to feel more normal. And tonight he agreed to, as long as he gets to bring a newspaper to read. I assured him he could!
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