The other day, I snuck away for a much-needed pedicure at my favorite salon, just before I had an important event at my sorority house (Alpha Gamma Delta at University of Central Oklahoma). Knowing I only had about an hour, I asked the gal behind the desk, “Are you very backed up?” She said no. She sat me down in a lovely massage chair and started some warm water for my feet. Luxury.
And I waited. I waited and waited and noticed there were at least four other people also waiting who’d arrived before me. Time is passing, but I’m relaxed and the massage chair is magnificent! Next thing I know, time isn’t just passing, but it’s getting tight. I seriously debate drip-drying my feet and just hauling out of there, having no service at all. But I look down at my hot-mess toe nails, paint chipped from not one but two near trip-and-falls earlier in the week. And finally, a kind man hurries over to me. But at that point, I had less than 25 minutes for a basic 30 minute pedicure!
Alas, the conductor of this pedicure, Harry was his name, did an excellent job! He finished up just in time to make my event, my Apple Maps confirmed it! He was even so generous to find me a pair of foamy disposable pedicure sandles to match my dress. In my head, I’d promised to wear them only in the car until I arrived to the sorority house…but fate had other plans. I rushed out of there, and bat out of hell is putting it mildly. I drive only a smidge over the speed limit, zooming to the other side of town, get parked, and hop out of my car.
SMACK! It hits me. I one hundred percent left my real shoes at the nail salon.
Now, all of the college aged ladies were very complimentary of my pedicure. My fellow alumnae were probably rolling their eyes. Oh, and did I mention I’m the President of the Alumnae Chapter? I really had it together! Not!
But, I’m happy to announce that the foam shoes held up until literally the last minute I was there. I did break one as I was departing the house and was forced to walk barefoot back to my car, with the white hot cement primed and ready to burn the bottom of my feet unlike I’ve felt in many a summer!
Now that the sun has set on this, the latest incident where I’ve lost my shoes, I realize I’m not sure how to proceed! Do I go back to the salon, pride fully swallowed and digested, to see if they were kind enough to put my shoes in the lost and found? Is there a lost and found? Is this a thing that happens? Or do I just forget all about it? The shoes weren’t really a favorite, I could totally part with them, plus they were white and it’s nearly Labor Day!
But honestly, I’m a little embarrassed to walk back in there…”Ummmm…did you find some shoes?” What would you do?
My Pilgrimage to Publication and Beyond 