Slumber Parties, Pedicures and Widows

Back when I was teenager in the ‘50s Slumber Parties were a common teenager activity at my school and presumably in the greater realm of the pop culture of the era. If you’re too young to know what a Slumber Party was, today they go by the names Sleepovers, Sweet Dreams Parties and Sleepover Glamping Parties. And judging by the party planner websites these modern day parties are a lot fancier than the ones of my youth. Did you know you can rent white party tents for your back yard then fill them with individual pup tents with matching bedding for the little princesses in your household? (I’m assuming based on what I saw on these website, Sleepovers are not something the opposite sex is engaged in hosting for their guy friends.) The party planners can even provide you with professionals to teach your preteens and teens all about make up. They also set up tables for catered food and fill up swag bags for the little guests to take home. 

Back when I was going to Slumber Parties we just showed up with our sleeping bags and  pajamas or nightgowns but prepared to stay up all night. We’d make Chef Boyardee pizzas from a box, pop popcorn or heap ice cream up for banana splits. We’d give each other pedicures and manicures or we’d wash and set each other’s hair. We might even puck a few uni-brows. If we were lucky, a few boys would come by and the hosting parents wouldn’t catch us sneaking out to the backyard to play a little kissy-face. Even better was when the girl had an older brother like I did. That always got you a better turn out for your party. Jerry was on the football team so he was a major draw, even though he had a steady girlfriend from out of town. Some girls at my school probably though she was a mythical girlfriend and some probably though they could charm their way past the absent girlfriend’s claim. But usually my mom made sure my brother was otherwise occupied when I had my Slumber Party.

What made me think about the Slumber Parties of my youth was the fact that I got a pedicure today, only the sixth professional pedicure in my life. I have a feeling a person either loves getting their fingers and toes pampered or they don’t. I’m in the latter category. I don’t like sitting that long and I really don’t like paying money for some thing I could do for myself before I got too old to be able to reach my toes without throwing my leg and hips bones out of alignment. I still do my own finger nails---only had two professional manicures in my life---and I get compliments on them, especially if I take the time to do the French style manicures. One of the professional manicures never made it home before one nail was ruined and I removed the rest of the polish when I got there. 

I thought about trying to organize a glam party here at the continuum care campus so we could do each others toes, but I don’t hear anyone complaining about getting them done professionally the way I grumbler about the indignity of someone other than a male in the heat of passion playing with their toes. Quite the opposite. The women here seem to enjoy going to nail and spa salons. Most of them go once a month. I’ve gone six times in ten years and most of them before an annual appointment with the dermatologist or foot doctor. I was never a girly-girly I guess. Or I’m just a cheap-skate.

And have I complained enough about the cost at FULL VOLUME yet? I’m still not over the sticker shock of paying up to $50 plus tips. I’ve paid $35, $40 twice, $42 and $50 twice plus tips. If the technicians get half of that I suppose that would be a fair amount for an hour’s work for a job requiring very little training. The last place I went was the cheapest place (for the basic, express) and it was mind-blowingly big with its sixteen pedicure chairs, twelve nail stations and eight drying chairs and most of them were in use. But my appointment was at 11:30 so I don’t know how many of the other women in there were on a lunch hour. The only person working in the whole place who spoke English was the cashier, greeter and person answering the phone. He also spoke what ever language it is that they speak in the Philippines. This is the place I will go in the future because not only is it the cheapest, its also the closest but I got the best pedicure there.

The only English speaking pedicurist ever had started out by telling me one of her clients was late for her appointment which is why she was late getting me in for mine. According to the pedicurist, who knew the woman’s family, the client was widow who had become a recluse widow and has done nothing but drink beer and get drunk in the year since her husband died. “Her family is worried.” Blah, blah, blah. Ten years into my widowhood and am I losing my ability to sympathize? At lunch here at the CCC a widow was complaining because no one at the Widow’s Support Group hugged her! This was last year when everyone was jumpy about getting Covid and I offered that as a possible reason why. And I added that everyone has different ideas of what they need in the way of support. “Well, I needed hugs,” she said, “and no one gave me one!” Several women then got up from the table and hugged her and she burst out crying and left. After she was gone, another woman said, “She just went to that group too early. She wasn’t ready for it yet.” I agreed. But I should start reading my blog from the beginning and see what kind of widow I was back at the beginning of the process, in a effort to refill my empathy and sympathy wells. As the years go by we humans---at least most of us---are equipped with a wonderful gift for minimizing the pain we've gone through and only remember with perfect clarity the good times.

Until Next Wednesday….  ©

 *The photo at the top is from the slumber party in the movie Grease which was set in the '50. And the photos below were napped off party websites that offer sleepover rentals. I just can't imagine my parents ever going to these extremes for little girls or teen parties.