So I go to relax and get a pedicure. Anytime actual relaxation occurs for me, it’s a miracle of epic proportions. Who knows if miracles happen, but I was hoping for one!
I walk into this place and there are ten, maybe twelve, pedicure stations, the big chairs with the foot baths attached to them. So I sit down all comfortable, and another lady comes in and wants a pedicure too.
OK, so I already told you there are lots of free chairs available. Yes, you guessed it, she sat right beside me. I’m not having this. I am totally out of there. I ask the nail technician if I can switch seats. She utters something in her own language, then agrees.
The lady beside me apologizes profusely, “I’m sorry.”
I try to reassure her and say the whole “Oh, no; it’s totally me, not you!” thing. Christ, Becky, this is not a relationship; it’s just a game of musical chairs. I sound like an idiot. No, it’s not personal, I have high anxiety, and I would prefer to sit alone. That way, I don’t have to fake smile if you should happen to look my way. I don’t know how to make small talk, absolutely no good at that. If you should try to strike up a conversation, I do not have to pretend to care. See, it’s all me. Please enjoy your pedicure.
Shit, I’m an idiot; she hates me. The technician keeps looking over here like I’ve committed a crime or something. Well, this has worked—I am completely out of my comfort zone. I may even vomit! Hooray! Mission accomplished—I’m uncomfortable, but the cognitive therapy assignment has been completed. I am the most hated person in here. After my toenails are dry and I run out of here, I am never coming back. Terrific, just terrific. I have to find a new place to get a pedicure. Man, all because I moved friggin’ chairs.
Can’t anyone try to relax in this place? Wait, that’s right, no, because that would be a friggin’ miracle, and we all know miracles do not happen every day!