Twice a month, I partake in one of my most sacred self-care ceremonies: a manicure finished with a neutral nail color - “White Bunny”. Number 57. In the DND DC gel polish brand, to be exact. It’s just something so satisfying about looking down at my hands and seeing them look “pulled together.” I also enjoy the soothing atmosphere of the salon: the hummhumm of the electric nail filing device, the swoosh swoosh of the nail buffer, the sound of water filling the tub of the spa chairs. It’s the sweet highlight of my month.
One day while in the middle of one of these meditative self-care ceremonies, I was snapped out of my trance when the door of the salon swung open so aggressively, I thought I might see the doorbell sailing across the salon. The heavy sound of a male voice, thick with that familiar Statesboro twang bellowed over my shoulder.
Man: “Heeey!”
Nail Technician: “May we help you?”
Man: “I come to get one-a dem pedicures. What’s the wait?”
Nail Technician: “Go to chair number five.”
Man: “Alrighty!”
He made his way to his chair; his steps and breathing were heavy. And as he approached my peripheral view, I couldn't help but smile. He stood no taller than five foot four inches. His muddy work boots peaked from underneath the legs of his khaki britches that were pulled high with black suspenders over his red and blue plaid shirt and pop belly. His attire was snuggly secured in place with a thick brown leather belt. On top of his head was a tan colored cowboy hat that had been worn and stained with dirt and sweat from many days of hard work. He flopped on the side of the seat of the chair and began to wrestle with his boot laces as the nail technician filled the tub with warm water. As he struggled with the laces, a wad of folded money fell from his pocket.
Nail Technician: “Uh-oh! You dropped your money.”
Man: “That’s YOUR money!” he said with a chuckle. “Betta get it before I lose it!”
Nail Technician: “Oh, well then give me MY money!”
They laughed together as he plopped his feet in the water. “Oh, he’s a regular here, too,” I thought to myself.
Man: “Boy, that feels gooood!”
Minutes later, the salon fell quiet again. Hummhumm went the electric nail filer device. Swoosh swoosh went the nail buffer. And then those noises were muffled by the cutest sounds.
Man: “Oh…Oh…OOOOOH…he he he he!” he giggled.
I looked over to find the little man squirming in his seat as the nail technician began exfoliating the bottom of his foot with a brush.
Nail Technician: “You ticklish!” she laughed.
Man: “I can’t take it!” he said with a huge laugh, wiggling around in his chair and wiping tears from his eyes.
The technician paused for a moment to allow him to catch his breath, and then she started again.
Man: “OH…he he he…OH…he he he. Oh…Oh…OOOOOH…HOLY MOLY!” he shouted with his wet foot in the air.
Watching the little man struggle to keep still as the technician quickly stroked the brush underneath his foot, watching him catch his breath between giggles and wiping tears from his eyes was more therapeutic to me than a year of manicures. His giggles were contagious. To see some of the spectators smile and to hear some of them giggle was one of those rare moments when we were all being true to our core -- we were just humans sharing a moment of delight. He led us from self-care to our-care. He made us feel “pulled together.” I probably won’t see the little man again, but I’ll always remember how he transformed that nail salon into a sanctuary. He gave us a holy moly moment.
May we all make time for activities that bring us joy. May we be brave enough to create atmospheric moments in our days that allow us to transcend our differences. May we work to make humanity and togetherness the intent of our daily lives. And lastly, may we have more uncontrollable giggles and laughs in our lives.
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