It’s a million degrees outside, and despite my wishes to honor Memorial Day, I’m exhausted from my three day work weekend. I woke with a stiff back, and the body followed. The headache was – and is – the cherry on top.

I decided to get a much needed manicure and pedicure, to get moving and accomplish at least one thing on my list of things to do before I work again.

It takes over an hour to get these things done, and I didn’t have a TV to watch or a phone to distract myself with, so I reflected on where I was instead.

There were ten clients in the salon, including myself. Eight were either obese or morbidly obese. I am in the top of the healthy weight category.

All the employees were Asian, and all were slight to slender in build.

I know that’s their genetic leaning – but I also know that they must not have taken to eating the average American diet.

I’d wager that most Americans would be a healthy weight if they ate what these employees presumably eat – lots of fresh vegetables, lean meats, fish. Not fast food, prepared food, etc.

Our culture is killing itself. It’s hard to look at that. I wonder what the employees think of their American clientele?

By the look of the clients, they were not wealthy – nor am I, but my husband and I are blessed to both be working at careers that keep us comfortable.

When I was a single mom, I never got my nails done. I didn’t start getting them done regularly until I was well into my forties, with my career established, and I was in a two income home.

Honestly, what got me going to the nail salon was my anxiety – I’ve been a nail biter since I was a child. No cuticle was safe from my prying fingers, and often my fingers and toes looked like a war zone.

Once I became a nurse, this became hazardous to my health, as each open wound was a pathway for bacteria.

Add to that my diabetes, and they turned into ticking time bombs.

Taking care of my nails did not come naturally to me – I’m not good at DIY home mani/pedi’s. I tried to do it when I was younger, but it looked a mess, and as soon as the paint started to chip, I’d help the paint by picking at it. And the vicious cycle began again.

It made sense to go to the salon instead of staying on that hamster wheel of destroyed cuticles.

But knowing I can easily afford it and knowing its good for me to have injury free nails doesn’t stop me from feeling a little awkward every time I go.

It feels strange to have people literally waiting on me – today my hands and feet were done simultaneously.

In my mind I think what am I doing here? There are two people pampering me right now.

It humbles me. It’s a job I can’t see myself doing …but even as I type this, I remember I’m a labor and delivery nurse. I can’t immediately think of a more intimate job than caring for women in labor. I’m sure my patients feel awkward.

As I got up to leave today, the girl that did my manicure said “Wow, you’re really tall!” I laughed and said “Yes, I am.”

I thanked both employees and tipped them well.

I don’t ever want to get to a place where going to the nail spa is routine or expected. I certainly don’t feel entitled to this.

I’m grateful.