Whats so "cure" about a pedicure?

Yesterday, at about 6 in the evening, the power Gods - aka the new government - decided to switch off the electricity in our neighbourhood. I was feeling a bit depressed and so decided to go have a pedicure for the first time in my life. A friend swore by the feelings which ran through her whole body as supple hands played with her feet. (Err... that sentence is not meant the way it sounds.) She said it would cure my depression and make me feel good.

The idea to go was not a very good one because you should never... I repeat, NEVER go have your first pedicure alone. It can ruin your self-confidence and leave you feeling like a nervous wreck who can just say "Huh" in various tones and differing stupid expressions to go with the sound.

So there I was, in a posh place at bjr hills, and I get into the black shiny door into a glittering place which is just bustling with white aproned smiling busybodies. One of them pounces on me when I'm half inside and leads me to a chair. Now this chair is anything but comfortable, but still, I'm willing to suffer a little discomfort for the feeling sold to me by the aforementioned friend.

The smiling attendant lines up about 15 bottles and a big wad of cotton next to her on the floor and sweetly looks up at me. "Non-acetone or regular?" The first missile is launched.

Me: "Huh?"

She looks at me. The smile is still there. "Do you want non-acetone remover or the regular one."

My expression remains frozen into a confused mask.

"Nail polish remover?" she prompts.

Ahhhh... I see. "What's the difference?" I ask her.

She looks at me with something resembling pity. "The non-acetone is less dry and better for the cuticles."

I nod and wonder if it makes a difference. After all, my cuticles have done fine in the 23 years of their non-pedicure existence. I mumble something. The smiling girl at my feet nods and picks up one bottle, presumably at random, and begins rubbing something weird-smelling on my nails.

Then I realize that I didn't have nail polish on my nails in the first place. Oh, well!

After the little cotton rubbing, my feet are put into a tub which presumably has only warm water, judging by the colour, but then there's a different sort of a smell wafting up from it – a bit like the sharpness of lemons mixed with something rotten. It's kind of hard to explain smells… so forget it. I ask her what's in the water. Big mistake. (Why do I need to know?)

She gives me a long, rambling answer which has stuff which is mentioned in percentages. The only thing I understand is that the water content in that… muck… is only 23%. I decide not to think about what else could be in there in spite of it looking so innocent. Innocently dangerous. Like Loch Ness monsters lying in the depths of serene lake surfaces. Of course I am exaggerating, but well, it's not really a good thing popping your feet into something which has 100-minus-23% of chemical content, right?

Anyway, the next thing I know is that she's rubbing my foot in small, delicate, circular movements with something like sandpaper. Now if she had rubbed it a bit harder, with more pressure, it would have been okay. But the way she was doing it, with small, feathery movements, it tickled! And I squirmed and pulled my foot out of her hand reflexively. Apparently, that is just not done while having a pedicure. I learned that bit when she looked at me like I'd done something really unpardonable.

"Sorry", I mumbled and she deigned to forgive me and went back to her sand-papering.

Next, massage creams. That part which the friend had talked about, supple hands on foot, which would make me feel good. Except that it didn't. It started with "Regular or Lavender?"

Me: "Huh?" part II

Pedicure Lady, with barely concealed patience, "Do you want the regular massage cream or the Lavender?"

Me, in a small voice, "What's the difference?"

"The lavender smells of lavender."

Wow! How truly amazing! I opted for lavender. Why not?

The next few minutes were good. Really they were. When she wasn't massaging very hard and when my feet didn't feel like Dara Singh trying to crush them, and when the cream didn't feel slimy and sick, it was good. At least my feet smelled of lavender. That has to be good.

Now, next, a heartfelt warning here. Do NOT let other people clip your nails after you have passed the first 5 years of your life. Because it hurts. Physical pain, I mean. And I'm very serious about this. They can't feel your pain and they do not know what they're cutting off. It's supposed to be just the dead part of the nail and not your skin. Even remembering about it… *shudder* I let out a big shriek right in her posh parlour… enough. You know what I'm talking about here. After people staring at me and making me feel like some weird freak, the pedicure went on.

After things like stupid cotton balls between my toes, and getting them painted with a transparent nail polish (I forgot what fancy name she called it), after about an hour, I emerged into the gently fading light and was walking back to my car when the locality's power was cut off. It wasn't so dark that I couldn't see my car so I started towards it and the next step landed in a puddle of water which had accumulated on the road after the last shower. My sandal, the lower part of my churidaar and my newly pedicured foot sank into the murky depths of the roadside, dirty puddle and… was totally ruined. It didn't smell of lavender anymore. :(

Perhaps pedicures are just not for me. And as for the friend… well, I'll meet her sooner or later, won't I?

Ohh, and to cure depression, eat chocolate. Lots of it.