Ummm, So I knew I had a little bit of pent up emotion...

So for the past week or so, I knew I had been "funky". People were asking me how I was doing recovering from Q's ordeal - and honestly, I thought I was doing ok. We made it through, Quinn was doing well, and I was starting to catch up on sleep. But I also knew I was a bit on edge shall we say. I just didn't expect my emotions to boil over like they did last night.

It all started innocently enough. Matt had worked some long hours the entire week but on Thursday, he arrived home early. He encouraged me to go get my nails done and since I had 45 minutes to kill before the babies' dinner and bathtime, I figured I would go. About a month ago, during one of Q's breaks home from the hospital, I had treated myself to my first manicure in over a year. I really had stopped doing them because there seemed no point to sit there for my nails to dry forever, only to have them chip one day later thanks to all things toddler.

Yet, my mom had introduced me to this whole "gel mani" thing (yes, my mom did - have I been living under a rock???). So I loved it the first time, but the nails had grown out to the point where it was time to get it redone. I thought it would take no more than 30 minutes and I would even have time to rush into the grocery store for a few items and make it home to help Matt.

So I headed to my so-called favorite nail place across the street (part of the reason it was my favorite is it's nearness to the house and doesn't require a 10 mile trek down to Katy). I've never had a bad experience and they also offer a complimentary glass of cheap wine, so SCORE in my book. Instead of going with my usual french mani look, I decided to go a little bit crazy and actually go with color. In retrospect, that was a poor choice, but I was living on the edge.

(Let me also put a disclaimer out there while some people find it relaxing to get a mani/pedi, I actually can't stand the process. All the sitting still and drying and trying to have conversations with people who typically understand half of what I say. I love the end result, but the faster, the better. I always go for the speed mani/pedi - no fancy stone massages, paraffin waxes, etc - I want in.out.with nice nails.)

So we started the process, got the old gel removed and she went to work on the color. I put my hand in the little heat drying thing and when I went to take it out for the next coat, she goes, "YOU MOVE. YOU MOVE. LOOK." And sure enough, there was some big fat ripples across my thumbnail. Now, I knew I hadn't moved and if I had, it would have caused an obvious mark, not ripples. But I went with it, said I was sorry. So she kinda rolled her eyes and starting taking off the polish and redoing that thumbnail. Then it was time to pull out  my other hand, and there were huge rippling across at least 3 of the nails.

I immediately said, "I didn't move, I swear." (Here I am, scared of the technician). Anyway, at that point, she realized that it was the polish she was using and not the customer's fault. But of course, I had picked a big ole bright reddish color. That was mostly dry because it was on the 2nd coat and had already been frozen on or whatever they do to make it melt to your nails. So after 45 minutes of already sitting there, I had to endure the process of soaking it back off and starting completely over.

At this point, my patience was running thin, I was out of my cheap glass of wine and she wanted to use the same color (which she now had soaking in warm water BECAUSE THAT WAS GOING TO HELP IT NOT CLUMP). I calmly said "no thank you, let's just do french if we are going to start over." So she broke out the french stuff and went to work.

Well, apparently this started a firestorm in the nail salon. The owner came over (who I of course could barely understand) and told me that I was going to have to pay extra for the french. By this time, it was well over 1 hour and 15 minutes into my supposed "quick trip". And I was at my wit's end.

And I told her extremely calmly, that I was not paying for the french mani, and in fact, would not pay full price, since I had been sitting there for I don't know, ALL MY LIFE. She kept saying "YOU PAY. YOU PAY. I LOSE MONEY. YOU PAY."

And I just kept saying, "I refuse to pay full price. REFUSE. The polish you are carrying and offering to your customer's does NOT work and I am NOT paying when I, AS THE FREAKING CUSTOMER, have been sitting here enduring this madness for way longer than a normal person." Ok, I didn't say freaking. But I felt like it.

I didn't curse at all.

But I felt like it.

The rest of the time gets a little fuzzy from that point on.

 She brought over a cohort (who I suppose was a translator or something) and then I had two of them yelling in my face that I would pay.

I turned red. And held my ground.

Until she told the technician to stop (halfway through finishing the french on one hand).

And only out of complete desperation and knowing that there were no other places open past 7pm and the likelihood of me making it anywhere the next day to get them fixed was slim to none, I finally caved. And said, "I PAY. I PAY. JUST FINISH". (At that point, I picked up their "accent").

So the two yelling ladies finally left me alone - and I was just sitting there with half of the salon staring at me and the other tecnicians whispering in a language I don't understand and sneaking glances at me.

And that's when it happened.

That pent-up emotion and all of the tears I've been wanting to shed since Quinn's ordeal started finally came.

Only of course they couldn't wait until I got home, or even in the safety of my own car.

They decided to come, fast and furious, smack in the middle of the nail salon.

And they weren't just tears.

They were heavy, wracking sobs.

The ones you try to control and you just can't.

You try to speak through them and you just hiccup something unintelligible.

You are somehow transported back to being 5 years old and being told you can't have a cookie and have a full blown break down.

Everytime I would think they were under control, they would just break out again - and heavier and heavier each time.

I had a full-scale nervous breakdown IN A NAIL SALON BECAUSE THEY YELLED AT ME.

Now, I had every right to be upset, but under normal circumstances, that would not have brought me to these hot, body-shaking sobs.

But things have obviously not been normal. And apparently I've held in, oh, quite a lot of emotion.

If you thought people were staring before, they were gawking after that little display.

And you know? No one even brought me a napkin, tissue or cotton ball to wipe my face.

They were either too shocked at the crazy girl or they just didn't care.

Either way, it was utterly humiliating.

After about 10 minutes, I finally got myself under control, she finished my nails (probably in shock) and I headed to the counter to pay the evil owner.

She again tried to charge me the full amount.

By this time, I had regained most of my bodily functions and my ability to speak somewhat coherently, and said absolutely not.

Exasperated, she asked me what I would pay. And I said I would pay no more than $20 for this hot mess of an experience.

She fought me on that for awhile, but I held firm. And finally, she said "I'm tired of you talk. Pay money and out". (I think she meant "get out" but I got the message).

So I threw her my debit card, which she threw back to me and I walked (sprinted) out of the door. Where I immediately called Matt in tears again. Probably scared him to death thinking I had just been in an accident because WHO IS SOBBING AFTER A MANICURE???

THIS GIRL APPARENTLY.

I somehow collected myself, got myself home where I broke into tears again until I saw my freshly-washed babies running around in their footie pjs and all in the world was right again.

Until I was chopping onions and accidentally cut a tip off my thumbnail, thus ruining my hard-fought mani. Oh well.

And I believe 11.10.11 will go down as the date that I finally had my much needed cry/sob/complete meltdown session. And while the locale was inappropriate and ill-timed, I am just guessing it was much needed. With swollen eyes and an exhausted heart, I collapsed into bed at 10:30pm and promptly had the best night sleep since Quinn got home.

And this morning, I really wish I could be a fly on the wall (with a translator of course) at the nail salon and hear them retell the story of the crazy girl who wouldn't pay for her nails.