A little ink and a little attitude goes a loooong way.

June 11, 2012 in Me and My Public Self

I know most women reeeeally enjoy getting their nails done.  And their feet.  I get that.

I’m not one though.  It has become somewhat of a chore for me.  I go as long as I can between fills and chiseling the barnacles off my hoofs.  I just don’t love it.

Never have.

And don’t be talking to me and getting up in my business while I’m in a semi-conscious state in that pedicure chair.  I talk and entertain all day at the work joint.  And they pay me.  I don’t want to do it for free at the nail salon.

(I’m sure you see where this is going.)

Last week, it was time.  I could go no longer.

(Well, “I” could have.  Those having to look at my nails and feet…not so much.)

Picture it:

Nails done first.  Polish is still wet.

I’m strolling over to the pedicure chair.  Hands outstretched in front of me and my jeans rolled up past my knees and I’m barefoot.

I’m doing my best not to jack up my polished nails.

A ‘husband’ had bumbled in to sit and wait on his wife while her pedicure was being finished up.

(I will immediately break up with/divorce/kick in the sack any man in my life that feels he needs to sit and look at me in the nail salon.)

(I don’t pop in at the strip joint and he doesn’t pop in at the nail salon.)

(Sorry if you feel different.  We all know I’m odd.)

(And we ALL know if I had a man who frequented strip joints, I’d be popping in and busting balls without thinking twice.)

(In front of his idiot buddies.)


Husband with the mullet is sitting there as I stroll past in my rather feminine Frankenstein jaunt.  And I hear him whisper a loud ass whisper to his wife:

Mullet husband:  “Hey.  She has a tattoo on her foot.  I bet that hurt.”

It's two H's. For my nieces initials "Hanna and Hailey". Though I have been asked if it stands for Happy Hour. As well as Holy Hell. No clue why.

Wife:  “Ooohh…she shore does.”

(Uh, huh.  Shore.)

(Said with three syllables.)

(To get the full feel of being there…double up on the twang in your head when you read their part of the conversation.)

(They make me sound severely educated and from royalty.)

(Compared to them, I really no longer have a twang.)

I act like I hear nothing and keep heading to the chair.

I perch up in it and all is good in the world.

Wife gets up and goes into another room get her birds-nest eyebrows mowed down.

Annnnnnd here he comes.  Right up to the side of my damn chair.

Mullet husband:  “Hey, that there hurt on your foot?”

Me:  “Yeah, it was pretty rough.”

Mullet husband:  “Now, when I got mine here on my arm, that hurt like a mother on the underneath part.”

(A mother.  Really?  A mother.)

And he proceeds to roll up his ratty t-shirt sleeve and in his best macho-ey way, show me his tattooed upper arm.

Flexing his bicep.  Of course, he was.

Me:  “Yeah, I bet it did.  That skin is pretty tender.”

I roll my head back away from his direction.

Mullet husband:  “Yeah, and on this one here…oh, man!  When he started with adding the color, I thought I was gonna scream!”

(Wuss.  Big, hairy wuss.)

And he proceeds to roll up his OTHER ratty t-shirt sleeve, flexing his other bicep and showing me his other inked up upper arm.

(I’m not impressed.)

(At all.)

(But I’m nice because hey, it’s who I am.)

Me:  “Yeah, I bet it did.”

Mullet husband:  “Yeah, I think I might be done at two.  But you know, like they say once you get one it’s addicting and you want more.  I been thinking about another one but she don’t think I need to spend the money on it.”

Me:  “Yeah, that’s what I hear.  You get one, you want another.”

Mullet husband:  “So, when are you getting your next one?”

Me:  “Oh, I’m done.  I don’t think I’ll be getting anymore.”

Mullet husband then goes into full-on macho I’m-a-stud-because-I-have-two-tattoos mode.  Pacing around the shop so everyone can hear him tell me how he’s got two tattoos.

And both ratty t-shirt sleeves are still rolled up.

(Like that shit makes him studly.)

Mullet husband:  “Aww, you gonna stop now?  Really?  Come on!  After that first one the second one is nothing.  You can do it…toughen up and just go for it!  You gotta be tougher than that!”

Me:  “No, I think I’m done.”

Mullet husband:  “Pfft.  Whatever.  I’m done at two.”

I just slowly turned in his direction, smiled a little and calmly said:

Me:  “I hear you.  But I’m done at five.”

The blood drained from his face.

My balls were pretty damn huge at that point.

I just smiled.

He had been strutting around doing his best to be all mullet-y bad ass for at least 7 minutes.

Mullet husband:  “No way, you got five?”

Wife walks out all beet-red at the brow bone.

Me:  “Way.  And for a small fee…I’ll show you all five if you think she’ll let you spend the money on it.”

Mullet husband:  (Kinda chuckles in a scared way) (Cause it was evident she wears the pants in that little love fest.)  “Nah, that’s alright.  I believe you.”

And they pay and leave.

And I roll my head back away from his direction.

Chantelle June 11, 2012 at 5:07 pm

ah… ego deflation. i’m probably mean, but who can’t help love some of that. lol. and the caption at the end, balls on my chest, love it! so funny!
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Carrie June 11, 2012 at 5:13 pm

I just couldn’t resist. He wouldn’t stop or go away. He just kept on and on and on.

So, really…he kinda asked for it.


Chantelle June 11, 2012 at 5:18 pm

yes, he did. now take a bow. lol
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Jamie June 11, 2012 at 5:26 pm

I die. This was hysterical!

Favorite part: “They make me sound severely educated and from royalty.”

That made me laugh out loud. From royalty! Ha! Awesome!

Wish I could have been there for that conversation. 🙂
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Carrie June 11, 2012 at 5:37 pm

I swear to you…during that short conversation, I had no twang next to them.


Liz @ A Nut in a Nutshell June 11, 2012 at 6:26 pm

You actually really did have me reading that with a severe twang. Got to love a woman with balls bigger than a man. 😉
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Carrie June 11, 2012 at 7:03 pm

If you could have only heard them.

Lordy, Lordy.

Jef June 11, 2012 at 9:42 pm

Of course, now I have to ask for details about your other four tattoos.

I would have probably told him that I had Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam on my unmentionables. I also would have told him that he could see Adam for ten bucks, and if he wanted to see God, too, it’d be an extra $15, because I’d have to think happy thoughts and the loss of blood from my brain might–just might–make me pass out.

Carrie June 12, 2012 at 7:55 am

Now, Jef. Where the hell are you when I need you??

THAT is brilliant. Sheer brilliance.

Amanda June 11, 2012 at 10:15 pm

Hahahaha!! I love it! I wish I could’ve been there to watch his face go pale!

And I love the 2 H’s!
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Carrie June 12, 2012 at 7:56 am

He just was so bent on being all studly (or so he thought) and bragging about his two. I wasn’t going to say anything because that would have only led to more conversation.

And well…I wasn’t getting paid for that.
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Barbara June 12, 2012 at 2:52 am

That is too funny! Love your stories.
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Carrie June 12, 2012 at 7:56 am


100% true. If only I had a dime everytime I walked right into crap like this.
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Chrissy June 12, 2012 at 9:12 am

AMEN!!! Pedi time is quiet, peaceful time not answer questions from strangers.

I could totally picture this back woods, twangy talking, dirtly man ruining your pedi. Love that you let him be loud and go on about having two tats just to shut him down with the fact that you have five!!!

Carrie June 12, 2012 at 9:45 am

…and I reeeeeally was trying to mind my manners.

And I do admit. It was pretty classic.

Connie Weiss June 12, 2012 at 9:46 am

I would have paid money to see that!
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Carrie June 12, 2012 at 10:53 am

Good to know. Goooood to know.

Next time I go to get my hooves done, I’ll bring you with me.

You know. Just in case.


Ken June 12, 2012 at 1:29 pm

Funny stuff. I have 4 tattoos, and I never think of showing them off. Who does that? I even forget that I have them most times.
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Carrie June 12, 2012 at 1:58 pm

Oh, believe me…I was thinking the same thing when he was parading around with his shirt sleeves up.

Except I added something like, “Jackass, who does that?” to it in my mind.


L.Hewitt June 12, 2012 at 3:25 pm

Oh I love this! And I can’t stop thinking in “twang”. He really had a mullet?

Carrie June 12, 2012 at 3:35 pm

Hellz yeah he did. It wasn’t a big, long Billy Ray Cyrus mullet….but he was working it.

Business in the front. Party in the back.

You know it. =)

L.Hewitt June 12, 2012 at 4:39 pm

bawhahaha – I just read your reply in twang – I cannot stop. Oh God Achy Breaking just started in my head. You are wrong for that. Don’t stop 🙂

Jennifer June 12, 2012 at 4:31 pm

This makes me love you even more. If that’s possible.
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Carrie June 12, 2012 at 7:38 pm

YAY!! I’m living good now!

Love back, sister!

Maggie S. June 13, 2012 at 7:16 am

I haven’t gone for a pedicure yet. Everyone says it’s great, but now… I just don’t know.
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Carrie June 13, 2012 at 7:43 am

Been doing them for 25 years. And I can say, this is the FIRST time I can remember being bothered.

Probably because he was a dude and doesn’t know the sheer joy of that 1 hour quiet, alone time.


Just do a quick mullet-scan of the room first.

Maggie S. June 13, 2012 at 7:52 am

Do you have any idea where I live? If I wait for a mullet free salon… it may never happen.
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Carrie June 13, 2012 at 7:59 am

THAT reply just brought on a huge burst of laughter that was waaaay overdue this morning!!!


Karyn June 13, 2012 at 11:42 pm

OMG Hilarious! I can’t believe you said that to him (yes I can, what am I saying? Do I know who I’m talking to?) I LOVE IT.

I’m with you, hate the salon, hate. And the hairdressers. I have been known to go 6 months between haircuts, much to my stylists frustration.

I can’t stand a man in the nail salon either, and also with you, I don’t want to chat when I’m there. My man wouldn’t be caught DEAD in one (and I love him all the more for it) he’s rather wait outside in a snowstorm, in his underwear, than sit in the salon waiting for me. (Not that he’s been outside in his underwear near the salon before, of course.)

Well, not that I know of – and one must ask oneself, how much does one really know about what their husband gets up to between the house of 8am when he leaves the house and 6pm when you see him again? Sometimes, its just best not to ask.
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Carrie June 14, 2012 at 11:12 am

Yes, you CAN believe it. I gave him every opportunity to slowly walk away and bother his wife.

SHE married him, SHE can be bothered by him.

I guess that’s why I never want any man I’m involved with to go with me to the nail salon. He’ll end up just bothering me. And I’d rightly deserve it for bringing him.
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Carrie's Experimental Kitchen June 14, 2012 at 5:55 pm

I’m with you on the don’t talk to me at the nail salon bit, though I do like to go now. I probably would have done/said the same thing to shut him up, he would have definitely annoyed the shit out of me!
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melissa June 16, 2012 at 9:32 pm

you are my hero 🙂 nuff said.


Becca June 21, 2012 at 1:01 am

Haha good for you! Any guy who acts like that is just sad!!!
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