#4: Spa Night

After a long day of work, there is nothing better than coming home to the smell of a good, home-cooked meal. Many nights this is exactly what I get, but not always. This is especially the case when the kids are out of school.

The other night I hit the door to the tantalizing aroma of jasmine and acetone. It smelled like I had just walked into an Indonesian sheet metal shop. I soon discovered that it was “Spa Night”, which usually occurs about the time my wife forgets about the giant mess produced by the previous spa night.

My den had been transformed from cathedral for worshipping the television gods to a full-blown, half-star parlor of pampering. At the Hansen Spa one can be treated to a back and foot massage, both with copious amounts of smelly lotions, a paraffin dip, and a facial. I’m sure the girls would love to start a roaring fire (see Blog #3) and treat us to a hot stone massage as well. However, my wife and I are not fans of third degree burns and have not suggested this addition to the menu.

The high end luxury service offered at the spa is the nail salon, set up at the kitchen table. Here one can have their fingernails and toenails painted in hundreds of combinations. How can I make such a claim? Simple, we own nearly every color of nail polish known to man.

As much as I hate to admit it, even I am a nail salon customer. Usually I can get away with sporting the polish for a few hours and then quietly remove it, but occasionally I end up wearing it longer. The girls once convinced me to attend church with my nails painted. I thought I could keep my hands folded and ease through service without anyone noticing. That plan didn’t work.

First, our babysitter and her mother saw them and commented. Then it turned out that on this particular Sunday we were doing communion by intinction. For those unfamiliar with this method, it is like the hurry up offense of communion. In one sweeping motion, the communicant receives the sacrament, dips it directly into the chalice of wine, and returns to their seat. There is absolutely no way of doing this without showing your fingertips. When may turn came up I reluctantly approached the altar, bared my decorated digits, and heard the words “nice polish” from the pastor. I am a defeated man.

Obviously, letting a 10 year-old and two 9 year-olds have carte blanche access to fingernail polish is a recipe for disaster. The possibility of it being spilled on the table and floor is extremely high. This threat is neutralized by a good, disposable table and floor cover. Nothing works better than the Wall Street Journal. An innumerable number of disasters have been circumvented by the Marketplace section.

Our salon may be the only place where you can get the entire end of your finger painted red and detailed with orange stripes and green dots while reading the latest financial news. And you walk away not only beautified but prepared for when someone at the grocery store exclaims “Oh my God, did you cut your finger?” To which you can quickly reply, “No, it’s my nail polish. However, I did read in the Wall Street Journal that the economy is still bleeding jobs.”

Use #4: Nail Polish Pad

In his spare time, John Hansen enjoys eating and breathing. He is the co-author of The Power of Zahn, an eventual New York Times Best Seller (provided someone publishes it and it sells A LOT of copies).