To any dads out there struggling for new ideas of things to do with your tween and teen daughters, here’s another possibility to add to the list:
Daddy-daughter pedicures.
Now, before you dismiss the idea entirely, let me tell you, I initially gave it the boot myself. “Pedicures, for men?” I used to think, before evolving enough to the point where thinking about getting a pedicure was now at least somewhat in bounds, though going to get one WITH my daughter was not something I would have even remotely considered.
Don’t get me wrong, I value time with my daughter. We’ve done the daddy-daughter dinners, dances and other activities that ensure she knows me not just in the context of our full family environment, but also individually, as not just dad to our kids but as HER dad. It’s important. But pedicures, with my daughter in tow? I’m not ashamed to say, that’s not something on our typical weekend calendar.
Then circumstances came to force my hand, or my feet, as the case may be. When the idea of a needed orthopedic cleanup before a recent planned beach trip finally brought me around on the notion, I decided to get things taken care of in a few available hours on a Saturday morning. Unfortunately, said open-mindedness didn’t come until the waning hours before our trip, leaving me little choice other than taking our 10-year-old daughter along to get one of her own, in the name of time maximization. I would no longer be the sole subject, as the case may be.
So there we were, my daughter and I, on a Saturday morning, in to get our toes done. She because that’s what girls like to do and for a nice spring color to fit the season. Me because if I didn’t have something done down there soon, the Environmental Protection Agency might soon move in to label my feet a hazmat zone.
This is where I should point out, there’s a lot more that goes into a pedicure than what I’d have imagined. Let’s just consider that part of the learning experience, that it’s not just about having your nails painted (which, no, I would not do), but having your feet groomed and soothed? Well, yeah, there’s nothing wrong with that.
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Upon welcome to the salon – no particular location, though you can seemingly find one in nearly every other strip mall in Naperville – you’re ushered to a comfortable massage chair, told to relax and dip your feet in a warm pool of water. Well, OK, if you insist. And then the work begins, of which, to spare those reading this column over their morning cereal, I will not share all the details.
Suffice to say, there is part of the process that seems something straight off a Donald Trump bumper sticker – to deliver pedicures en masse, especially for men in their 40s who’ve never had one before, is to make America grate again. “Grab the chair, this may tickle a little,” I was warned, before the salon worker took to my feet like they were blocks of fresh Parmesan.
I don’t know what was more entertaining, my daughter laughing at me as I laughed while the woman doing my pedicure, ahem, shaped the bottoms of my feet. Or the women across the aisle from us laughing at my daughter and I as my daughter laughed at me while the woman doing my pedicure, ahem, shaped the bottoms of my feet.
Which raises an obvious question – just what do you call a person who gives pedicures, besides “a saint”? Are they pedicurists or manicurists? Beauticians? Nail technicians? Follicle management supervisors? Call them whatever you want, somewhere between the warm water soak and the check, I was sold on the idea of pedicures, even for men.
I know, it’s 2016. Hygienic services are no more the exclusive domain of women over men, or vice versa. Though it took some time to get me to go for one – and, gents, I know more than a few of you who’ve been in my shoes – I would do it again. And probably will in the not too distant future. If for no other reason, just for the warm gauze wrap at the end.
When we left, my daughter still cackling uproariously on the way to the car over what she’d just witnessed, we’d shared not just a laugh, but also an experience. I told her that she’d remember that morning, not just because of the monumental milestone it represented – dad’s first pedicure! – but also that thing that she and I went and did together that no else in the family could say they were a part of. Just the two of us.
That experience became a frequent topic of conversation in the days that followed, pushed along by my wife and daughter alike. To my surprise, in nearly every conversation, there was another guy who’d had a pedicure of his own, at least once. Suddenly the idea didn’t seem as strange as it once had.
But we won’t be going for manicures anytime soon.
Rob Manker is a freelance writer who lives, works and parents in Naperville.
Twitter: @RobManker