Some Have Stars on Thars...

If you appreciated my toe art (July), I can refer you to my nail lady. I will, however, warn you to beware the Vietnamese nail guy with the pompadour... I wish to protect his anonymity and avoid a lawsuit for defamation of character, so let's just call him BB.

For my birthday my sister suggested that we continue our tradition of pedicures and eyebrow waxing... We could not remember the name of our favorite foot-care technicians, so she simply requested "no men" be slated to fix up our toes.

When we arrived we were both whisked back to have our waxes. Seeing the look on her face when she came out, I knew things had not gone well. I told myself that I should head for the hills right then and there, but (a lot like my friend Alice) I very seldom take my own good advice.

I'm not gonna lie, the waxing was not good. A month later, I am still trying to grow out my eyebrows, and I look like a gorilla. Little did I know, however, that the fun was only beginning!

After the wax I wandered into the nail care area of the salon and discovered a sullen sister receiving her pedi at the hands of A MAN. The guys at this salon tend to play rough and avoid the fluff (that is why we avoid them), but not BB. He was a 85 pound, 5 foot Asian version of Liberace on laundry day. He cooed and lavished us with compliments, and he found Big Sister's kryptonite.

When he realized her feet were sensitive, he made sure to tickle them until toes curled, fists clenched, tears welled and shrieks accosted people passing by on the streets. This continued until Big Sis nearly passed out from oxygen deprivation.

While her toes dried, he used a blow dryer and excessive amounts of hair spray to reinforce his pompadour, then he came back for more. He kissed her hand for (no joke) 45 seconds, rolling his lips and face back and forth across the back of the hand. He did the same for me. Stunned, I missed his next comment. "Huh?" I asked.

Thinking he was swooping in to repeat his statement in my ear, I continued to sit, jaw dropped, while he leaned in, pressed his face to my neck and nuzzled until I too began to shriek.

After escaping from the spa chair, I realized that I could actually smell BB on my body. I paid my bill and ran for those hills that had called to me post-wax. Not quick enough. BB caught me one last time in an embrace that sent chills down my spine. Sufficiently groped, I staggered to the car and screamed my dismay. Convulsions wracked my body, causing my foot to shoot out into the dashboard of my car. One red, white and blue tribute to the land I love was demolished in a single moment.

Some would say that I defaced a flag (of sorts), others would debate the constitutionality of flag centered acts of protest. All I know it that when BB gets his face in your space, loss of a rhinestone toe star is the least of your worries!