Aaron has always been extremely fascinated by the nail salon inside of Wal-Mart. He wonders what those people do in there; why it smells strange; and WHO gets their nails done. And of course, invariably he will ask me, “Mom, can I get my nails done in there?”
No, Aaron, you cannot get your nails done. And his next question is, “Why?”
So I try to explain that guys don’t typically have their nails done…………..although I know that’s not really always the case in this day and age. Andrea just came home recently from the nail salon with a story of a very, well, unique “man” who was getting a manicure while she was having one. We decided that she should NOT tell Aaron about this!
I cut Aaron’s nails for him because he has terrible manual dexterity. For his safety and for the preservation of his fingertips it’s just better if Gary and I take care of that for him. I remind Aaron that when I cut his nails, he usually gets impatient or grouchy……………so why does he want to pay money to someone to do what I do at home and pay for something that makes him grouchy?
It doesn’t register. He still would love to experience the nail salon.
Yesterday he had his annual eye exam, and then after our Pizza Hut all-you-can-eat lunch buffet……….where I had to put a stop to all that Aaron could eat……………he and I stopped at Wal-Mart for a few items. In the check-out line he asked his usual question. “Mom, can I go sit on that bench and wait while you check out?”
I said yes, with my usual reminders to him……………don’t run, Aaron; please don’t clap while you’re sitting there; don’t make any weird noises; and stay right there until I come.
I unloaded the cart and took care of paying, etc. When I pushed the cart away and looked toward the bench…………..there was no Aaron. Then I saw him – standing in the doorway of the nail salon. My dear somewhat big and somewhat unusual Aaron, just standing in the doorway observing all the action of the intriguing nail salon. I could only imagine what the employees and the patrons thought of this man standing there just watching them.
I rescued the women from this uncomfortable situation and Aaron chattered on the way to the van about how he likes the nail salon and why can’t he get his nails done, etc., etc.
At supper Aaron was excited to tell Gary about his little escapade and how he nearly entered the forbidden salon. “Dad, while Mom paid at Wal-Mart, I stood in the door of that nail place!”
And what did you do, Aaron? “Well, I read the sign that gave the prices. And then one of those nail-filer ladies asked me if she could help me.”
And there it was – another of Aaron’s priceless descriptions of people. A nail-filer lady. Don’t you just love it? Gary turned his head away so Aaron wouldn’t see his smile, and he and I stifled our desire to laugh loudly. Aaron went on to describe how the nail-filer lady took the woman’s finger and filed it, and used a little drill to buff it. He was fascinated even more by what he saw and is more sure than ever that he needs to experience whatever it is that those “nail-filer ladies” are doing in there.
And I’m sure that I will never be classified as a prestigious “nail-filer lady.” I’m just annoying Mom who makes him pause in his day to have his nails cut. Maybe if I bought a little drill?