What's next? Walking across broken glass?

Today at Mother's Day Out was basically Mother's Day. Mickey's classroom was recreated to become the "Mom Spa."

Mom Spa was a lahhht of fun. Our perfect kids served us punch and cookies. They combed and styled our hair ("yyyess, honey, that feels, er, ow, good...") with little barrettes and clips. Then we went to a table where we got back massages with those three-legged thingies you get at Bath and Body Works.

Then, to my horror, there was the manicure table. I had to let Mickey paint my nails?!

You have to understand: I drive 20 minutes to my manicurist whose middle name is Meticulous (okay, USED to drive).

And now I get to let a four-year-old MALE do the job.

All the other mothers were happily sitting down and offering up their hands. I wondered if I could get away with telling Mickey I already had polish on them. No, shoot, they had a bottle of polish remover right there on the table. And then I thought how snooty and inconsiderate and just plain mean it would be if I told him no thanks.

And I thought about it some more.

And then I grabbed the remover, took off my old polish, and spread out my fingers on the table for Mickey to attack with the tiny brushes.

He absolutely loved it.

(By the way, I tried to photograph his handiwork but it's too difficult to see since the polish was too sheer. But it sparkles. All the way up to my first knuckles.)

So after I'd sacrificed my fingertips I figured I'd come home and take it off...and I guess I mentioned this to Mickey. His response?

"Why?"

Uhhhh, well, maybe I'll leave it on until Daddy gets home. Or until I go to bed tonight.

Or until your highschool graduation...