A hairy Saturday...
There are certain events in a woman's life for which she shaves her legs.
Some of these events are:
• she's getting lucky
• upcoming skirt in the outfit rotation
• trip to the gynecologist
There are also certain times in a woman's life, when she does NOT shave. For instance, I don't shave my legs when I'm sick. Maybe subconsciously I think all that hair will help keep me warm, or ward off more germs. But for whatever the reason, when I've been sick, chances are I haven't picked up a razor.
Such was the case last week. I felt crappy and looked crappy.
This past Saturday, while Mr. KK was away for the day and night with his college friends in NYC, I thought I'd treat myself to a facial and manicure.
I was in my little strapless snap-on terry robe, under the soft, warm covers on the bed, while the esthetician worked scrubs and lotion onto my face. As the steamer opened up every pore known to man, I felt her make her way to the bottom of the bed. Then she started untucking the covers. Then, she reached for my legs.
I've only had one other facial in my life, but I distinctly remember it taking place on my general head area.
KK: "Oh, I left my socks on."
(read: please don't touch my hairy legs, please don't touch my hair legs)
ESTHETICIAN: "That's okay, I can take them off for you."
She takes off my socks and starts rubbing lotion up and down my legs.
Oh, that poor, poor girl.
KK: "Um, I've been sick...and I haven't shaved...I didn't know you'd be touching my legs."
ESTHETICIAN: "Don't even worry about it."
KK: "Well, at least it's been a really long time since I've shaved them, so they not stubbly. The hair's longer and it's soft."
Yeah, I'm sure THAT made her feel better. I felt like I should reiterate to her that I have showered, even though my legs resembled a gorillas.
Early bird tales...
I mentioned my grandparents were going for "dinner" at The Olive Garden on Friday.
My grandfather told us he didn't want to tip the waitress because he thought the service was slow.
NOTE: They were back in their respective apartments at 5:15pm. The meal (including travel tiime) lasted exactly one hour. How slow could she have been???
And impeccable hearing...
Sunday we were at my parents' house for family dinner.
I still wasn't feeling well, with little energy and a constant wish to just be able to nap.
However, I wasn't too sick to hear my mother saying THIS: "You know KK's sick because she's not in here trying to tell me how to cook."
What I should tell my mother, is that her "whisper" voice? Is still a little loud.