The Chair


In the beginning of September 2005, I embarked on my articles. I went from a summer of semi-carefree fun with my only job to write a series of Bar exams , to working 110 hrs/week. I never left the office before 11pm, at the earliest.

I was also deep in the throes of training for my first marathon at the end of September.

I was busy, tired and aching that first week. My only hope was for Friday. Friday was the only day of the week that we could leave the office at 5pm - on the dot.

One afternoon that first week, I asked Adair to go to the nice salon at the end of our street, which was in a fairly trendy area of town. I asked him to go into the salon, check it out and if it was decent, book me a Friday appointment for a relaxing, pampering pedicure. But only if they had "The Chair." You know, the nice, comfy, back-massaging, reclining, vibrating chairs?

He called me later that night to confirm that he had indeed been to the salon and thought it was nice, and booked my pedicure appointment. I asked him, "Do they have a chair?" He assured me that they had a chair. What a sweet, loving husband I have!

So all week, despite crippling exhaustion from work and marathon-training, I was looking forward to my wonderful pedicure. I really built up my anticipation since it appeared to be the only moment of relaxation and rejuvenation of that week. I raced home right at 5pm to get to my pedi appointment.

I walked into the salon. It sure seemed nice. I was warmly greeted, and I was asked to follow the esthetician. I followed her through the nice salon, then was lead downstairs. Hmmm...that's kinda weird. As we descended the staircase into the basement of the salon, there appeared to be a marked difference in the decoration.

The basement was an old, dingy, undecorated, cluttered with old unused equipment. Clearly not like the salon upstairs. Then I saw it. The chair. Nope, not a fancy pedicure spa chair.

The chair I saw was a grimy plastic lawn chair - with a bucket next to it. Ya know, for the soapy water for my tootsies?!

Apparently THIS was where my pedicure was going to take place. I almost died. Seriously.

I had two options. One - throw a fit and leave, and no pedicure. Or two - suck it up, get pedicure, and get to torture Adair for the rest of his life. Option two it was!

So there I sat getting my pedicure in the dank basement, after my long and hard workweek, trying to imagine the conversation Adair had with the receptionist who booked my pedicure.

Adair: "My wife wants to book a pedicure, but she wants to be sure you have a chair."

Salon lady: "Yes sir, we have a chair" {Thinking...OMG - of course there's a chair! What are we gonna do? Do a pedicure while she's standing or doing cartwheels? Yeesh, what a dumb question}.

I guess the moral of this story is the infinite difference between "a chair" and "the chair." Oh, and don't ask your husband to book your salon appointments. EVER.


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