No Bad Touches – Part 1

So I think I may have gotten molested whilst getting my mani/pedi yesterday.

But before I get into that you’ll need some context.

I recently moved back downtown and needed to find a new nail salon because even though the one I used to go to is super awesome (and by super awesome I mean clean enough that I felt reasonably sure that I would not contract a staph infection) I didn’t want to have to deal with “Yana” again.  Yana is the kick-assiest of all pedicurists in the city and I was always happy with her work but she had one major flaw.  Yana was from the Ukraine.  On one of my first visits — in a misguided and  ill-conceived attempt to ingratiate myself in the hopes of getting better service — I made the mistake of telling Yana that I TOO WAS FROM THE UKRAINE!!  Adding in our native Russian, “from Odessa!”

“O mai Gohd! Hno vay! Me tooh!” were the last words Yana ever said to me in English.  Which would have been awesome if it weren’t for the fact that “from Odessa” were two of maybe a total of 20 words I knew in Russian.  I might be exaggerating a bit but suffice it to say that when it comes to Russian I have the vocabulary of a five year old — a super smart, born behind the iron curtain, bad ass Ukrainian five year old —  but a five year old none the less.  Net net,  I spent most of the next two years nodding my head and smiling idiotically while pretending to understand what Yana was saying.  Consequently I would leave every appointment shamed and remorseful about having neglected my native language and vowing to rectify the situation toot sweet.  Which of course I never did.  Oh and it’s not like I was fooling anybody.  Yana totally knew that I was maybe getting a fifth of what she was saying but must have felt bad enough for my sorry ass to never call me on it.  That or she was talking shit about me to me the entire time.  I’m pretty sure it was the latter.

Which brings us back to me having to find a new nail joint. Which I did.  And which is where this story gets interesting.  And by interesting I mean creepy.   But I will save that for Part Deux.

Oh and in case you had any doubts about my being a bad ass Ukrainian five year old…CHECK IT.


Categories: Rants and Raves

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