This afternoon, I was having a Day of Beauty/Spa Life in the Castro. Got my hair cut and exchanged insights on the Walking Dead and proper zombie evasion techniques with my beauty operator, Jeff (who refused to see the brilliance of my theory that zombies can’t lift their feet high enough to climb steps, so just run upstairs. Also, a fire axe is always handy. Anyway Jeff’s an idiot.) Went to the chiropractor and got well and throughly cracked. Also, got my nails did.
That’s when the trouble hit. Doesn’t it always? The nail place was hushed, with quiet spa music noodling in the background, and I was ensconced in my favorite massage chair thinking how much I like someone else filing my hooves when this queen and her two lady friends busted in. Miss Lady Queen Thing proceeded to expound in a booming voice to her gal pals just how to get a manicure.
What the fuck? It’s not exactly a participatory event. You sit back, let the manicurist go at it and then leave. About all you have to remember is to only stick out one hand at a time. I tired to keep my eyes shut and ignore the bitch, but immediately all the manicurists, who had been quietly going about their jobs and probably dreaming about the day they rise up in revolution, started chattering and giggling. Sweetie, you can drop as far into Vietnamese as you like, but we all know who you’re gossiping about.
Still, it was a great manicure and on the way out, I saw the braying queen had picked the ugliest pukey green polish in the world. Stupid bitch.
I swiped this from Jason’s Tumblr, over at Golden Fleecing . I realized what a fussy old queen I have degenerated into when the first thing I thought of on seeing it was “That boy needs a pedicure, stat.”