In The Minority

I was hankering for some grooming today. The cold weather is ever so cruel and my hands were looking rough, my nails ragged and my feet calloused. I don't feel pulled together if I'm not well groomed and if your extremities look bad, you'll make a bad impression as soon as you meet new people. Or so Glamour magazine tells me.

I arrived at my usual nail emporium and situated my generous posterior in one of those pedicure Lazy-Boy units. The bank of pedicure chairs were empty so I sprawled out, catching up on the latest trashy journals while my hooves were shaved and pummeled. It was heaven.

Within minutes, a young Indian fellow came in and seated himself in the pedicure chair next to me. A technician started working on his toes. Then another man came in, an older and distinguished African American man. He looked like a professor. He sat on the other side of me and submitted his feet for ministrations. Soon after, a young man who looked like a musician came in and sat next to The Professor. He looked practically euphoric as his toenails were filed. And if you can believe it, minutes later a slim Asian Metrosexual came in and filled out the last vacant seat in the pedicure row.

I appear to be in the grooming minority. On the upside, men appear to be embracing their inner-Diva. Now if we could just persuade them to embrace waxing.