Proof That I Need To Take Care Of Myself More Often...

I had my massage today. It was lovely. Especially after I went running this morning in 26 degree weather. Thank God it was sunny. And my friend made me go.

So I’ve apparently not been there in awhile. You’d think that I’d know this because I couldn’t tell you for the life of me the last time I was there. Or maybe because my knots had knots. Or maybe because I forgot how to get there and had to Mapquest it.

But nope, none of those is why I knew I hadn’t been there in awhile. The place I go to is a massage school, which means they’re students who need hours and therefore, it’s cheap(er). In fact, it’s $35 for an hour long massage, quite a deal. Errrr, it was $35. When I got my credit card receipt, I saw that it was $40. Now, keep in mind that I’m not complaining. A $40 massage is a wonderful and rare thing. But wow, it’s been awhile.

And when I went to go get my mani/pedi yesterday, I realized that it had been awhile since I’d had a mani/pedi. Again, I could possibly know this because there were people working that who I didn’t recognize – as a family business, the staff has been remarkably stable since its opening. Or maybe because I can’t remember what color polish I last had on my toes. Dark purple maybe?

But nope, once again, it’s because the prices have gone up. When I first started going there at least seven years ago, it was $25 for a manicure and pedicure. Considering I knew about – but didn’t frequent – places that charged $17 for the manicure alone, good deal. Plus, they give the greatest foot, leg, hand and arm massages as part of your treatment. That alone is practically worth the $25. But for the last few years, it was $30 for the mani/pedi. Yesterday? $35. The only good news is that there were two girls in there on spring break with me who I could overhear being shocked that it was no longer $25. At least my shock wasn’t as great.

Again, $35 for a mani/pedi is not something to sneeze at, but it still makes me sad that everything is getting more expensive because I’m turning into one of those old fogies who remembers when gas cost $0.98.

And quickly back to my massage: The therapist told me that I have perfect skin for a massage. Totally did a double take on that one and finally had to ask what exactly that meant. Apparently, that means that the knots in my back don’t adhere to my skin and make it so tight that the therapist can’t work with it. That or she was totally bs’ing me. Still a totally weird comment.

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And I know I promised the story regarding my in-laws. I will preface this by saying that they’re really nice people. Really sweet and caring people. They just aren’t always the most couth.

For Easter, they took us out to brunch (no comments on how this occurs only because the parents, two sets of aunts and uncles and the sister can’t agree as to whose “turn” it is to host a holiday so now all of them refuse to host anyone for any holiday). It was (to quote my husband) the nicest restaurant in Edwardsville, which really isn’t the strongest compliment. It was fine though.

They had a salad bar that consisted of iceberg lettuce, two kinds of shredded cheese, no veggies or other toppings, and three kinds of salad dressing. My in-laws were in front of me getting their salads, so I waited patiently while they made them. Since the dressing was on the wrong side of the lettuce, I had to watch what they were doing before I could even start to get my lettuce.

FIL lifted up the dressing scooper with some sort of dressing on it, brought it near his nose and sniffed. He then shrugged and held it out to MIL. She said she had no idea, so he urged her to taste it. This is when internally I began screaming no, but my physical body could only drop its jaw and stare. She dipped her finger into the dressing and tasted it. “Yep, thousand island.” At that point, he didn’t pour it on his salad, which would have been bad enough. Nope, he returned the scooper to the dressing, stirred it around and scooped up a full dipper full of dressing before pouring it over his salad.

Yuck yuck yuck yuck yuck! Any guesses as to what kind of dressing I most certainly did not put on my salad? Seriously, in what world is it acceptable to put your finger in food that you’re sharing with multiple people? It’s a buffet. Put the dressing on your salad. If you don’t like it, go back, get a clean plate and try a different one.

Ok, done venting. Almost. We went to Max & Erma’s for dinner tonight after getting pics of the kids (awwww) and happened to sit right near the ice cream sundae bar. Three different families sent their kids back with their dirty ice cream bowls and no parental supervision to get more ice cream. One kid couldn’t get the sprinkles to come out so tried picking them out of the puncture holes. And my husband wondered why I wasn’t in the mood for any dessert tonight (although after eating an entire hamburger, there was no way I could have eaten anything else anyway)! Yep, now I’m done venting!

Have any of you run into situations like the above that just gross you out, or am I being way to picky?