How To Spend Senior Week, #3
(Note: I skipped over installment #2, which will discuss the Senior Class Trip to Six Flags and the White Sox game.)
So you've been to Second City. You've Roller Skated, you've spent somewhere between 5 and 12 hours at an amusement park, and you've paid far too much for ballpark food. If you're me, or Veronica, or Carolyn, your feet are calloused and chronically tired, you've torn your nails up stressing over finals, and you haven't had a chance to pay attention to your eyebrows since, oh, Christmas (because of the BA, you know...) SOLUTION: Girly day at a nail salon.
Of course, we were all too tired and scatter-brained to a) make an appointment, b) get out of the house early enough to get to the nail salon any time before 12:45, when they were in the midst of their lunch-hour rush. "We can fit you in at two," they said. That wasn't going to work for Carolyn, but Veronica and I put down our names and we decided to take ourselves out to lunch so that Carolyn would not have trekked up to the North side in vain. Pickings were slim, aside from an Einstein's Bagels, but a few serendipitous choices in route put us in front of a Mexican restaurant, which we decided to try for lack of better options.
The interior was far more promising than the exterior, but what was most promising was the interior of the menu. FACT: They advertised the best Margaritas in Chicago. FACT: Their house Margaritas are half-price on Tuesdays and Thursdays. FACT: Carolyn had been craving a Margarita for a while, and we were all hot and sticky and miserable. Which is how we explain the following:
And this:
And, indeed, this:
I believe that I announced, as the drinks were put before us, "Oh, this is good, Veronica. We won't be able to feel the waxing."
I'm ashamed to say that I had never before had a margarita. I'm also ashamed to say that I was the only one who finished her drink. And, thirdly, I'm embarrassed to say that it was a strawberry margarita, which may very well violate my rule against girly drinks.
Then Veronica and I went to the salon and were pampered and exfoliated and pedicured and manicured and had our eyebrows done...although by the time we got there any analgesic effects of the tequila had worn off. I, having only had extra-cheap sketchy manicures in hole-in-the-wall salons in Chicago, was pleasantly surprised by how nice it could be, and Veronica and I had a nice long chat about beaux.
What say you, Vanessa-- When you come to Chicago, nails and margaritas?
(Oh, okay, Larry. If you come out to Chicago, I'll also take you to get nails and margaritas.)
So you've been to Second City. You've Roller Skated, you've spent somewhere between 5 and 12 hours at an amusement park, and you've paid far too much for ballpark food. If you're me, or Veronica, or Carolyn, your feet are calloused and chronically tired, you've torn your nails up stressing over finals, and you haven't had a chance to pay attention to your eyebrows since, oh, Christmas (because of the BA, you know...) SOLUTION: Girly day at a nail salon.
Of course, we were all too tired and scatter-brained to a) make an appointment, b) get out of the house early enough to get to the nail salon any time before 12:45, when they were in the midst of their lunch-hour rush. "We can fit you in at two," they said. That wasn't going to work for Carolyn, but Veronica and I put down our names and we decided to take ourselves out to lunch so that Carolyn would not have trekked up to the North side in vain. Pickings were slim, aside from an Einstein's Bagels, but a few serendipitous choices in route put us in front of a Mexican restaurant, which we decided to try for lack of better options.
The interior was far more promising than the exterior, but what was most promising was the interior of the menu. FACT: They advertised the best Margaritas in Chicago. FACT: Their house Margaritas are half-price on Tuesdays and Thursdays. FACT: Carolyn had been craving a Margarita for a while, and we were all hot and sticky and miserable. Which is how we explain the following:
And this:
And, indeed, this:
I believe that I announced, as the drinks were put before us, "Oh, this is good, Veronica. We won't be able to feel the waxing."
I'm ashamed to say that I had never before had a margarita. I'm also ashamed to say that I was the only one who finished her drink. And, thirdly, I'm embarrassed to say that it was a strawberry margarita, which may very well violate my rule against girly drinks.
Then Veronica and I went to the salon and were pampered and exfoliated and pedicured and manicured and had our eyebrows done...although by the time we got there any analgesic effects of the tequila had worn off. I, having only had extra-cheap sketchy manicures in hole-in-the-wall salons in Chicago, was pleasantly surprised by how nice it could be, and Veronica and I had a nice long chat about beaux.
What say you, Vanessa-- When you come to Chicago, nails and margaritas?
(Oh, okay, Larry. If you come out to Chicago, I'll also take you to get nails and margaritas.)
3 Comments:
Well I currently have nails, though I'd have no objection to getting them prettified - maybe a mani/pedi combo? As for the margaritas, I'm not so sure about those (tequila and I have a rocky relationship), but I'd happily do girly type drinks of some variety.
By
Vanessa, at 7:23 AM
Mmmm, I do love a good pedicure.
By
Nemo, at 8:32 AM
Now THAT is an offer worth the braving of Midwest heat and humidity! Is suspect that they will scream and point when I walk through the door, tie me in a reclining chair, and spend four hours trying to manage my Irish eyebrows.
By
Anonymous, at 10:51 AM
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