Mom and Mia go to the Salon

So Mia and I go out to the nail salon to get one of my nails replaced. I had smashed the original while reaching into the freezer to retrieve the ice cream we had for Chinese New Year. When it happened, cursing ensued which is historically not part of the New Year celebration but will most probably become part of the tradition in our home what with all the moving parts and all. Not only did the nail breakage hurt, it launched the nail to a destination unknown. So I stand there in the kitchen shaking my hand and wondering if the nail was in the ice I intended to use for drinks or perhaps safely lodged in a Popsicle that had been in the freezer so long that it had transformed into a purple gob of nail-grabbing goo? As my husband enters the room, I whisper about my dilemma. He says, "what?" I repeat myself just under the volume level that would announce to the assembled guests "Hey, I just ripped off a fingernail and put it into the ice and aren't you just glad you came here to eat, now what would you like to drink" and he says "what?" I pantomime the breakage and launch of the nail with Shakespearean effort and he looks at me like "what?" I stand there with my thespian dreams deflated and then take the ice out to dump it, albeit not on his head, and verify no nail was present. Of course, my brilliant thinking and decisive action left us with no ice. I could have chopped up some Popsicles but thought better of it.

The next day, Mia and I get to the salon, where they seat us in a chair so they can fix my nail. Mia begins reaching for anything toxic, sharp or easily spilled with all the gusto she has while I sit trying to keep her away from the items on the table while simultaneously keeping my hand there, a feat made all the more difficult as my hand could not be severed from my arm which would have certainly been preferable at that point. I finally bend myself into a large "C" effectively keeping Mia away from the dangerous items while simultaneously working toward my goal of one day performing with Cirque Du Soleil.

After seeing how limber and good with kids I was, the gal fixing the nail asked "Your granddaughter" I tell her no but as I was at that point talking roughly into my chest, I guess it didn't translate well. She then said, "Oh, babysitting. She's cute" and I explain, this time into Mia's head that no, Mia is my daughter. The gal waits until I straighten up to come up for air, looks me dead in the face for a second and then states, "You're old to have little kids." You think? The tip didn't turn out to be much that day.