I really enjoy painting my nails. I like doing it, not so much because having pretty, manicured hands is appealing to me, but because I like to methodically pick it off the next day. This is embarrassing. I have left pink/red/purple/white polish bits in my boss's office, in conference rooms, on the subway, in bed, and on this computer keyboard. Nervous habit.
So this week, I decided that I was going to get a manicure and NOT PICK IT OFF. I went to the place next door to my office because it costs a whopping $7.50 to get my nails done. This was also kind of an emergency because I had made it through half of the "Your Villa or Mine?" O.P.I polish I had put on the night before and had then come to what can only be considered a nail color stand still. No more polish would come off easily. I didn't have the bottle with me to slyly repaint the chipped parts. Solution? Cheap manicure.
So I actually had nails when I walked into the little shop. I am not tall, but I towered over the tiny Peruvian woman who led me to an open chair. Distracted by that fact, the soap opera on the single television in the room, and the wall of mirrors I was facing, I didn't really notice when the little woman began shearing off all of my nails. I think I became aware of it somewhere in the middle of the first hand, but I was so surprised that the best I could do was say feebly, "Oh, you're just kind of cutting them all off..."
She looked up and gave me an enormous smile and she was so cute that I couldn't even be angry. She just seemed incredibly happy to be chopping off my nails and turning them into little stubs and I figured that they do grow back, so I let her paint them a light pink color that O.P.I. calls "A Peony for Your Thoughts."
It's been almost 48 hours. It's still on. I don't have the heart to pick at the stubs. Perhaps this was my answer.
Jack is TWO!
3 years ago