On Father’s Day, younger daughter and son-in-law gave my husband a gift: they took him to the nail salon for a pedicure and invited me along.
It was a rare treat for us both.
The men bravely entered the salon full of women. They had their limits, though, refusing to get their nails painted, though I did suggest it.
Everything went well till it was time to leave. My nails seemed dry and I asked if I could put my shoes back on.
“No!” the attendant replied, shocked. “You have to put on your sandals!”
Sandals? “I have no sandals!”
“Then you have to wear those things out to the car, Mum,” daughter interjected. “You can’t put on your shoes!”
“I am NOT wearing these strange-looking green things on the street! Why didn’t you tell me to wear sandals?”
“I thought you knew, Mum!”
“How on earth would I know?” I wailed.
“Oh, Mum,” she said, before bursting into laughter.
Turning to each woman and one girl in the room, I asked: “Did you bring sandals?”
Everyone said “Yes”. I was the only one who didn’t know the rituals.
I hung my head in shame.
Then I looked up to accuse them: “One of you could have at least said ‘No!'”
To which they only laughed harder.
My son-in-law tried to hide his amusement, but daughter and her father seemed unable to stop laughing out loud. Worse, husband called me “Raptor Foot” because of the strange salon slippers I now had to wear in public.
But then he sent me this video, which celebrates the Toronto Raptor’s big win with a dance named Raptor Foot, so I forgave him. https://youtu.be/Q4IUyOXD0uo