It’s not common place for me to talk about myself when I write these pieces, but I couldn’t pass this up. See, I ascended to a new level today. I was persuaded to get a pedicure with my manicure. And by persuaded, I mean I was in the waiting area and thought “a pedicure seems nice. Let’s try it.”
Manicures are somewhat new to me. It was only three months ago when I was cutting my nails that I said to myself, “This is so tedious. It would be great if I could pay someone to do thi – – Holy hell, I can!” It’s awkward as a man in modern society to walk into a nail salon and say “I need a manicure.” It’s awkward to say in any sense, “I need a manicure.” This is not a statement accepted from a male in America. And why? Because to be male is to not be female.
Well, in the words of Cyndi Lauper, “Girls just wanna have fun.” I like fun. I’m not opposed to fun. So why do I have to not enjoy all the fun girls are having? Ladies, how relaxing is a manicure? It’s amazing! Mix in the pedicure and you’ll have me kicking like a puppy getting his belly rubbed. Why am I forced to choke down every element of appreciation for beauty and love and compassion and relaxation and, of course, self-maintenance? I embrace my testosterone. I enjoy war movies, watching animals kill each other, reckless driving, crap like that. But I can’t balance with a little self love? If a beautiful, feminine woman finds time to enjoy football and wild sex, she’s the perfect girlfriend. But if a man finds time to enjoy a bit of pampering and the occasional romantic film, he too is the perfect girlfriend.
Look, I’m not suggesting that men start buying shoes at an exponential rate or start going to the bathroom in groups of three. I just think that a social mindset of hygiene being feminine is a bit over the top. Don’t get me wrong, I greatly appreciate the lengths women go to in the name of self-care. It burdens me just to shave my face. And tweezing and waxing is borderline masochism. The ladies have my respect. So, in return, let me have Pho and Tsing rub my ankles and wrists while a midget locked inside a leather chair punches my back in a soothing manner. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.