I knew I was exposing my backside to the crowd, but my nails were freshly painted and picking up my pants would risk a smudge...
The weather was beautiful on the day everyone saw my deriere. It was a Saturday afternoon. Flip-flops were on, and me, my sister, and my mother were headed for a mani and pedi; a gift from my stepfather. It would be a new experience as this place had just recently opened; a factory of sorts. There were chairs lined up 'till the eye could see. One side for manicures, one side for pedicures...in the middle, those massage chairs that you need to straddle to get a 15-minute 'special'.
The service was superb. We were greeted by a host and, over his shoulder, we could see women drinking tea and being fawned over. We placed our orders as if they were lunch specials. We waited only a few minutes before being called to our thrones...me, by a young man who was instantly at my feet, placing my piggies, ever so gently, in rainbow-colored water. My mother, without crown, but still Queen for the day, pointed and said to her entourage, 'one, two, three', adding massages to the bill. Me and my sister eyed the leather torture devices in the middle of the room and declined. She insisted. So did my 'young man'. So did the lady walking around the room taking orders. I shuddered at the thought and my relaxation-mode went out the window.
"Relax, relax" was what my 'young man' kept saying. "Okay" I smiled back, bracing myself for the ultimate pumice tickle. This bothered him, I knew. He did not have time in his schedule for this nonsense. He only had time for 'x' minutes for a pedicure, 'x' minutes for a manicure, and 15 (long) minutes for a massage before we would become dethroned and tossed back into the street like peasants...with brightly-colored nails.
He pulled my foot towards him to scrub, I pulled it back in an effort to stop the laughter. This went on for a minute or two. "Relax, relax". "Okay" I said, knowing I was lying through my teeth. I think my 'young man' feared a kick in the face, so, needless to say, only half of my calluses were removed that day. He gave up. Can you blame him?
We proceeded with the manicures (the massage now looming closer), following the continuity of the assembly line and marveling at their business etiquette. When done, I began to waddle over to the 'chair', already embarrassed by the compromising position it held without my deriere in it. I looked around the perimeter of the room for cameras. My panties were sliding down a bit but I could not retrieve them with wet nails while on my mile-long journey from the mani station. I contemplated asking my 'young man' for a hand, but knew it was not in his job description.
Once face down, I could only see my pocketbook and my coral nails in front of me. I could not see, thank God, the women's faces to my left or the women's face to my right, as my massage began. "Relax, relax" I heard, his tension rising as well, probably because he wanted to slap me for my inability to relax. "Okay", I mumbled, my face pressed so tightly into the chair that moving my lips to speak was becoming a struggle. He rubbed my shoulders, my head, my back, my lower back...I became more tense the lower he got. Might I remind you, I was leaning forward, face-down, into a chair. My midriff, not so pretty. My backside, not any better. As he reached my tailbone (this would look SO much better if I were laying flat!!), my shirt began to rise and my pants began to lower (my panties had already lowered so you can imagine where I am going with this). I just knew it. I felt the breeze. I could sense the exposure and the stares. I tried to mumble to my mother, next to me, but to no avail. I tried to move my hips, hoping I could adjust myself this way, but to no avail. It was what it was.
I closed my eyes and relaxed, for the first time all day, making mental notes of my wardrobe for my next visit. The three of us compared stories afterwards, but couldn't confirm any theories, since we were all face-down, exposed, at the same time. I laughed to myself, wondering if the glaring patrons and my 'young man' could see a family resemblance. Maybe I should walk in, backside first, next time and see if he remembers me.