The Christmas Carnage

Formerly known as The Christmas Manicure

Back in 2018 I wrote about a thriving trend down here in Florida — The Christmas Manicure.

It’s right up there with seasonal fabric reindeer antlers sticking out of car windows, inflatable tropical Santa yard decor, and couples riding tinsel-clad e-bikes in jubilation.

It had been a few months since I’d had my nails done by a trained professional and the polish from my niece’s attempt was wearing off. I decided to brave Perfect Nail, the salon right next to Publix.

I use the term “brave” because Mel and I have been going there for a few years and if I’m being honest, I’m consistently disappointed. It’s a stressful experience. Similar to other unexplainable events tied to Christmas, the place is always totally packed. Their polish is old and the TVs are blaring. Not to mention getting your nails done anywhere outside of New York City will cost you and arm and a leg (foreshadowing).

Anyway tis the season, so there I was in the pedicure chair. To my right was an older lady and her even older mother. The mother had been married to her husband for 71 years and refused to get red on her toes “she insists on pink even though I told her it’s Christmas.” To my left was a woman getting acrylics (a french with red sparkle tips) and also purchasing a gift card for her daughter “she hasn’t worked in 18 years, so she’s got the time.”

I gave my nail technician OPI’s Meet my “Decorator” and requested The Deluxe. Tina went to work and within seconds had totally gouged my big toe. Cut it to the bone with her tiny clippers, blood everywhere. She begins to douse it in that green antiseptic stuff and then pours some alleged blood-stopping powder all over it. No one seems to notice, Tina just continues with the leg massage.

On the four large-screen TVs above me the local news was reporting on how to tell if your parent has dementia and a Florida bill that could prevent government offices from flying the Pride flag. Some woman skipped by wearing a sweatshirt that said “Everything’s fine, keep shopping.”

Tina finished the questionable leg massage, moves on to the polish, carefully avoiding the bloody side of my toe (still bleeding). Oddly saying nothing. I was a bit stunned by the casualness of it all taking into consideration the service Perfect Nail was selling — making your nails look as festively spectacular as humanly possible. This is Florida! How am I suppose to wear open-toe diamond-studded stilettos to Midnight Mass? What if I am meeting my boyfriend’s family for the first time and they are a no-shoes household? What if I am a foot model about to shoot my last job of the year so I can buy my kid a Squishmallow? What if it’s a cruel prank? What if it’s a cash bar?

You are going to have to rely on your blind faith when I tell you the cut sever was deep (foot pics for paid subscribers only).

But I’m new here, so I slipped on my lilac Birkenstock and hobbled out of the salon back to Mt. Crumpit.

The next day I went to the beach to rinse my wound in some saltwater in hopes of preventing Hepatitis C. Luckily I am not attending Midnight Mass or a boyfriend’s holiday dinner, and (currently) am not a model. Tomorrow night I will slip my foot into my Christmas diamond stilettos and march myself down to Mel’s where I will immediately change into my leopard-print furry flip flop slippers. We’ll eat vegetable lasagna on the nice China, watch our favorite holiday movie, and complain about various indiscretions, The Christmas Carnage being one of them.

Maybe Christmas, I’ll think, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, I’ll think, means a little bit more.