*Girly (?) Post Alert 
* picture from ourvanity.com
“Would it pain too much?”
“No, dear. Just a bit.”
“You aren’t saying that just to appease me, are you?” Her mother had warned us about people who smooth-talked only to swindle you later.
“Try me.”
She hesitantly nodded an okay and walked behind a huge curtain. Her already pink cheeks flushed a deep carmine. The older girl went in too, with equipment in hand.
The complete bikini-waxing apparatus.
I sighed and got ready for some eyebrow threading. If hair has to be removed, I prefer it to be from more, err, approachable body parts.
An old lady with sagging cheeks came in and demanded an uplifting facial. A thirteen-year old cribbed about undressing in front of strange women – “Really Mamma! I would never have thought!”. I later caught her admiring herself in front of a full-length mirror. The Mamma looked pleased too. She had enjoyed her 45 minutes of massage. There were no stray thoughts to be lent to a waiting, squealing kid. Really, they were right about girls being blessings!
“Don’t you ever wash your feet?” A plain Jane-ish pedicure girl said aloud. “I do.” her customer replied meekly. “I have been a bit busy.” Jane mock-sighed. “You also have these white spots all over your face. It becomes very hard for us to clean such stuff.” This to a girl I thought looked really pretty. Good thing she hadn’t a view of my weather-ridden feet. I thanked my stars for helping me dodge a pedi-insult. Anyhow, last thing I saw, the poor girl overpaid the cashier. She was all muddled up, you see.
“Won’t you have a manicure, Madam?” The parlour girl looked pleadingly at me as I walked towards the cash counter. “We have some glorious nail shades to finish off as well!”
Oh, sure. A manicure worth a couple hundred bucks when I would (literally) dirty my hands digging into chicken for lunch. Nah. Manicures are for the fork-using, napkin-wiping, wishy-washy people. I am happy with what little care my soap and moisturizer take of my hands.
“That will be all.” I squeezed a little tip into her hands. After all, she had spent the good part of the last two hours bidding goodbye to my body hair, blackheads and grime.
I came out of the gloriously air-conditioned salon. The Delhi summer sun pelted newfound fury on my newfound beautiful skin. Such a shame, I tell you.
