Geriatric. Spa. Day?

Dating back to my 18th birthday, or maybe even before then, I have always gotten a mani/pedi to celebrate my grand entrance to the world (6/17 ... only seven shopping days left!).

If today’s events have any karmic bearing on what 26 might bring – oh, then please, BRING IT ON!

I was too engrossed in my academic literature – yes, I was in public, reading an academic study having a very Elle Woods moment (re: cute nerd) – to notice the others filling in the tootsie Jacuzzi’s around me. Much to my chagrin, as the nice lady was pretending my heels were a block of Parmesan cheese I looked around and noticed I was the youngest person in the nail salon by at least two and a half decades; possibly even three to four decades. And out of the 15 people getting some type of treatment, I was also only one of three people to have only X chromosomes in my web of DNA.

Yes, the other pedi patrons were males.

Old males.

With pasty white legs.

And Tevas barely covering their bleached white socks (and soon to be purdy feet!).

At one point, one of the two other women (a wife) in the area began talking about the war – not a current one – W.W.II. She was 18 at the time and I tuned her out before I could hear what her occupation was back in the day.

Don’t get me wrong, I love everyone and would have thought it to be a pretty cool thing to get a mani with my Nanny, but the scene felt a little bit like the Twilight Zone.

Either this is an omen that I am in for a year of wrinkly things (see left) or year of random (once again, see left).

I vote the latter. And a new hat for the Pug. Maybe something of the tiara variety?

Speaking of random old people, David Lettermen just called Pittsburgh the "Iron City". I think Letterman has booze on the brain .