Expectations

The other day in my fancy hotel in tripoli I went down to the fancy spa and treated myself to a fancy pedicure. It cost about $40 but as we women all can do very well, I justified it based on the following reasons:

a.) need: the polish had chipped and it was therefore a necessity

b.) I need just a touch of pampering. A pedicure is really just a minor luxury. Right ladies? 

Well, it sucked. I should have clued in to the fact that it began with a makeshift footbath in the hallway. The cuticle removal process was more painful than usual. And then, to my surprise, despite the evidence of a nail file, exfoliating scrub and massage lotion, she went right into painting. Oh and the choices were red, redder, red and palest pink. 4 choices; three of which were the same color.

Sensing disaster, but in need of new polish, I let her do it. But then she wanted to do the rest of the pedicure. She wanted to massage and exfoliate and my nails were still wet. Oy. Without a common language I was forced to grunt and flee. Luckily the receptionist picked up on this and didn't charge me.

I was floored. This place looked super schmancy. But I realize I forgot one thing. I was in Tripoli. There is this weird veneer of elegance and, well, money. Underneath that, however, is pretty severe underdevelopment (and insecurity...) Of course I could point to my many discussions about politics and women's rights to make this point. Yet, this moment in the salon, while certainly not more poignant or complex, was perhaps more personal. I wanted to relax a bit and that was shattered by incommunicable incompetence.

Exhibit A: My gnarly foot made worse by coloring outside the lines and no filing.