The Need for an Adult Bib

This week I am away from home on business, training a new sales rep for my company. Now, I suppose I should feel enormous guilt for abandoning my Squirrels but they are spending the week at my sister Susan's house, and they had nary a minute to talk to me when I called. Which means they are having the time of their life, probably free feeding on TCBY frozen yogurt, riding horses, and turning Susan's house into shambles. So, if it's all right by you, I'll skip the Working Mom Guilt this week.

I indulged in something tonight that made me realize there is a market for adult bibs...a 45 minute pedicure. Why the bib? Let me 'splain...

I was in Old Navy feeling sorry for myself as I realized sometime between last year and this year, Old Navy had shrunk all their pants. I stood before the dressing room mirror in the "Sweetheart" jeans and turned and twisted trying to see if my backside looked like it needed backup beeping sounds in the pair of pants I had wedged myself into. I realized it would be some time before I would be in single-digit sizes again and resigned myself to fate (cue the violins playing sad music).

So I left the store planning to attend my Pity Party, Population One when I spotted a nail salon. The last time I had a pedicure was right before my wedding and I managed to leave the salon on my foam flip flops and promptly rear end somebody at the next stoplight as I was looking down admiring my newly-painted toes. The passenger of the vehicle I rear-ended got out and was smoking up a storm and cussing at me. She must have called the cops because soon an officer, an ambulance, and a fire truck pulled up. Suddenly she was in the car complaining of chest pains and neck/back injuries. My insurance company rewarded me with a fat increase in my premiums for the next three years. Happy Wedding to me.

So I felt it was time I climb back into the saddle again...or, in this case, the delectable vibrating, swirling warm water around my feet pedicure chair. I really think if we'd drop these pedicure chairs into the Middle East (instead of food packages and bombs), we'd have world peace in no time.

I was 15 minutes in before I figured out my pedicure chair was programmable. It started massaging my back and between that and having my feet pampered, I feared my eyes would roll back in my head, I'd start drooling like a nursing home resident, and fall out of my chair.

Alas, I made it through and must say, my feet look fabulous! At least 10 years younger (ha!) and in honor of my cute little Asian pedicurist, I indulged in some MSG-laden Chinese food for dinner. Who says business trips have to be a drag?