It's been raining for three days now. Today was the fussy, fuzzy, steady kind of umbrella-defying drizzle. Yesterday it just poured. Sunday...well...more pouring, really. So today I went and got my nails done. I left the office, made my way through the hustle-bustle of Midtown, and landed in the oasis of the nail spa. They aren't parlours anymore. No, now they're all spas. Just say the word out loud. Say it on a breathy exhale. Spaaaaaaaaaaah.
Incidentally, the word parlour isn't particularly stress-inducing either, to my mind. To me it brings up images of ladies in bustles, surrounded by ferns and mahogany, pouring tea. It sounds nice, actually. Exclusive even. Or at least intimate. Join me in my parlour. We'll talk, we'll embroider something, we'll while away the hours. You'll come away with buffed nails and a sense of calm and closeness.
So both spa and parlour speak to me of slowing down, communing, single-tasking, if you will. I think I'll post those words somewhere where I can see them and take a mini-vacation in my head to a place where friends gather, where pampering happens, where I can just go aaaaaaah. What a lovely antidote to all the rain.
