Confessions of a rich American bitch

Greetings from smoky Hamilton, Montana, where the fires have so obscured the sky that the mountains east and west of town are invisible.

Today, for the first time, I needed to basically stay in bed all morning--I'm staying at friends' Kay and Tony's house--just to let go of everything and drop fully into restfulness. It worked. Even slept some. Then, this afternoon, I wandered down to Main Street in this little town of maybe 10,000, meaning to take my computer to an internet cafe, and forgot my computer (so I write this later, on Tony's computer). Wandered around in a daze, until I came across a place that did pedicures. If you recall, I tried to do my own pedicure back in Jackson, and my hand shook too much, so this was my opportunity. They advertised 1/2 hour and one full hour pedicures, saying that the hour-long ones involved massage of feet and legs, so I grabbed it, thinking I needed some real luxury on this downtime day. Well, after 40 minutes, she was done! And boy was I pissed. Hardly any massage, and the nails weren't even expertly done. My inner bitch rose up and loudly announced that I would split the difference between half and full hour pedicure, and of course, the poor worker called for the manager, who said they shouldn't have advertised it that way, etc. etc., but that I did get a "full" pedicure. I decided not to press it further, except to say, in a loud voice, that I would not recommend them to my friends.

Stayed pissed all the way back to Kay's house. Told her about it, feeling foolish even as I did. Thought about how only a year ago I had never indulged in a pedicure, and now that I had, look at what it had brought me to, a petty argument over 15 measly bucks! Tried to justify my pique to myself, but the situation of self-indulgence so ridiculous that it truly did feel like the complaint of a rich American bitch.

The contrast between this personality stuff--righteously proclaiming false advertising--and my stated intent on this tour to help ignite a collective fire that burns up old unprocessed grief--really quite hilarious.

So, in a mood of (no doubt, temporary) humility, I stop this rant to dress for this evening's book event.