¡Viva el cinco de mayo! No es fabuloso?!

And how did I commemorate the temporary defeat of French forces in the little-known Battle of Puebla? It was, afterall, one of those gemlike days in the city where everything sparkles blue and bright and shimmery warmth... just perfect for Coronas and limes and guacamole and salt and tequila in the sun. But no, I got my buzz from chardonnay and acetone fumes.

Just when you think I couldn't get any gayer (what with the knitting and all), I've gone and done it: I had my very first -- and likely very last -- MANicure and pedicure. In my defence, this is not something I did on my own, but rather as part of a bridal shower party for my good friend Michelle (with whom I'd traveled to Italy a few years ago). She's getting married in a few weeks in Hawaii, and our friend Carolyn put together an afternoon at the salon for some pampering of the bride-to-be. But guests had to spend a minimum amount on services while we were there too, so, well, there you have it.

I still don't know what all the fuss is about. Most of the women (and not a few of the men) I know get this stuff done semi-regularly and yak on about how wonderful and relaxing and blah blah blah. I, however, had to focus most of my energy on not cringing through the spine-tingling filing, the tummy-tensing foot scrubbing and buffing, and the chalkboard nail scraping. Not to mention my vague discomfiture at sitting in an oversize comfy throne while someone I could barely communicate with knelt below me, hunched over my soaking feet. Also? 8 hours later and I still can't rid myself of the lingering vanilla-ish scent; it's like I stepped in a crème brûlée. Gah!

I have to say, though, my fingers and toes do look terrific. And with that, I must now go do something with beer and dirt and pliers and grilled meat.