If you've been a reader for a long time, maybe you think I don't stick my foot in my mouth as much as I used to. (I do!) Maybe you even think I've stopped embarrassing myself on a regular basis. (I haven't!)
Maybe you've also noticed I'm not as snarky lately.
I used to make fun of OC people a lot, but now it seems like a lot of them are reading what I write about them. It makes me feel … censored. It kind of takes the fun out of it when I know they're lurking about.
It's a lot easier to make fun of people when you don't know them. Most people, no matter how odd they might be, end up being nice once you get to know them.
That being said ….
About two weeks ago I stopped into a Money Town nail salon for a much needed pedicure. Before you say, "How OC of you!" I'd just like to point out it's not easy to clip your own toenails with your non-dominant hand. Go ahead, try it.
(And yes, I DID just pull out the I've only got one working arm card to justify getting pedicures.)
In any case, I had been at the salon for awhile when a woman arrived and I began snarky-tweeting about her. I couldn't resist. She was approximately 48 years old. She arrived in The OC Woman Uniform of skin tight clothes, lots of exposed man-made cleavage, and her face botoxed into an unmovable object. I've taken up the hobby of analyzing what plastic surgery people have had … and this woman?
Well, a better question would be what part of her was remotely real?
So there I was, soaking my feet and relaxing in a massaging chair while snarky-tweeting. The OC woman was seated in the massaging chair next to me, reading. Twitter was telling me to take a picture of her. They especially wanted to see her PIGTAILS.
Who wears pigtails when they're 48 years old?
And no, it wasn't like she'd just come from the pool/beach/gym. It would make (some?) sense if that had been the case.
No, she was dressed all-out to attract an OC man. Her outfit included high heels and blinged out jewelry – but then … pigtails!
And not only did she have two, short, sticking-straight-out-like-a-little-girl's-pigtails, she had big RIBBONS on each pigtail.
What the hell?
Do OC men have fantasies about 48 year old women with high heels and pigtails and ribbons? (Dear Gawd, don't answer and please pass the mind bleach!)
I distinctly remember the last time I wore my hair in a similar fashion. I was in seventh grade which means I was 12 years old. My best friend and I wore our hair in sticking straight out of our head pigtails with big huge ribbons to be intentionally ridiculous for "twin day" at school.
I was not 48 years old, in high heels, and wearing tons of man-made cleavage topped with pigtails and big fat ribbons in my hair.
Anyway, the women was also loudly insisting the salon use "Oh!-pee!" nail polish on her toes. What she wanted to request, of course, was OPI (oh-pee-eye) nail polish. This made me snicker and think I'm a way superior person.
Of course I am … because really – OH!-PEE! nail polish?
My toes were nearly done drying when the woman who gave me the pedicure (who did not speak English very well) began looking at the tattoo just above my ankle.
"Tw-en-ty Four!" she sounded out triumphantly, and then looked at me questioningly.
Before I could even consider explaining why I have the words "Twenty Four" and a heart tattooed on my leg, I realized I had the sudden and total attention of the pigtailed woman sitting next to me.
Did you ever see The Exorcist?
With the head spinning on the shoulders thing?
She stared at my tattoo, she stared at me, she began texting and/or tweeting frantically on her phone. It became immediately clear she recognized me.
I began concentrating intently on my toes.
"I know you," she said.
I smiled demurely and looked away.
What? You don't believe me?
I can be demure if I try.
"I follow you on Twitter," she said. "I've read your blog several times!"
"Uh oh!" I thought. "Not anymore …."
I almost tweeted, "Oh shit, Pigtails follows me on Twitter!" but I didn't.
"Do you have a sense of humor?" I questioned, smiling.
"Yes …?" she replied warily.
"That's good," I said.
And then …
As quickly as I could, I left.
© Twenty Four At Heart