It just looked so cute on the girl sitting next to me.
As sassy as I like to think I am, I tend to keep the Ho on the Down Low.
French tips on the nails – Hooker Red on the toes.
I figure if someone is looking that close at my feet, they have a little nasty thang goin’ anyway, right? I make their day.
The truth is, I wave my hands around a lot when I talk.
If there’s color on there, people start getting all glassy-eyed and try to follow the streaks flashing through the air.
I worry they aren’t really listening to me.
I worry they are starting to get hypnotized.
I worry about whether or not they’ve ever dropped acid and what is the proper etiquette when a PTA mom has a flashback in the middle of pie and coffee.
But those nails….. I don’t know….. they were kinda speaking to me.
They were saying things about adventure and spontaneity, reckless youth and whole days without Ibuprofen.
“I’m kinda diggin’ Sue’s nails.”, I said, casually, to CJ, my hunky MANicurist. “What do you think?”
“It’s new. She does black sometimes, too. Wanna do it?”, he ventured.
“Oh Lord, no – I’m too old. I’m really not that hip. I could never commit to a color. Way to old.”
I kept up in this vein for a good five minutes until CJ stilled his mighty file and said, “It’s paint.”
Good point – the paint. Not a tattoo. Not a life choice. Paint.
And still, it took me two more trips. Two more exposures to Sue’s completely cool nails.
(Black the next time, “shattered” silver after that.)
“Let’s do this thing”, I told CJ, with much boldness and bravado.
“Atta girl – pick a color!” and he pointed me to the Wall of Choices.
I’m walking. I’m walking. The Wall is getting farther and farther away. I swear I see twin girls standing in front of it. I’m waiting for one of them to whisper “Redrum. Redrum.”
I look back at CJ, my panic evident. He rolled his eyes and possibly mumbled “Oh, for the love of God…” under his breath. Or maybe “Redrum”. God knows he was thinking it.
Okay, so red goes with everything. But it’s a little obvious. I already have these naughty little piggies working.
Black is damn sassy but I’m a 45 year old mother. That’s trying too hard. Next thing you know I’ll have a toe ring.
Blue? Kind of sassy – kind of safe. A little childish. I think I saw a 5 year old with blue nails yesterday.
What if I call it “Navy”? That’s classy sounding….
Navy says, “I’m wearing a Ralph Lauren blazer now but in the ’80’s I was all Devo, baby.”
Oh yeah. I am makin’ a statement now, by crackie!
And, of course, there is no “Navy” so I make CJ mix two colors to get the exact level of classy-sassy a girl like me requires.
His eye is twitching but he’s a trooper.
I already make him crazy with the PInk & White and the buffing when everyone knows Shellac is the way to go.
By now, the entire salon is invested in this decision.
The “entire salon” being three technicians giving two manicures to septuagenarians and one pedicure to a diabetic who just hauled himself out of the scooter.
To say I had the floor is an understatement. To say it was due to my comic timing is an overrstatement.
This was big entertainment for a Tuesday afternoon. At Meijer.
(oh! did you think I was at FiFi’s FooFoo Salon? Nope. Best mani in town is just a slab of glass away from the checkout line, baby!)
I sashayed through my shopping, clicking my New Nails on the cart handle the whole way.
I felt young and hip and ready to whirl off on an adventure at the drop of a hat!
What’s this? A new Rubbermaid line? Purple handles on the storage bins? Oh hell yes!!! I am so getting that.
That was Day One – Hour One.
Then I got back to Glen Arbor.
…..to be continued……