Last week I went with Becca, and the Boyfriend, Naveen, to get mani-pedis in beautiful downtown Boulder, Colorado. This is a standing appointment we have as friends on a semi-monthly basis. As this time it was in Becca's town of Boulder we ate Indian and wandered over to the nail salon. Now, when we do this Becca gets her toes and hands done, Naveen gets a pedi and polish, and I get just a pedi. Every appointment I see the ritual play out. Becca and Naveen approach the polish wall and debate the best and cutest colors for their soon to be pampered fingers and toes. And every time I decline to join the fun.
I tell the lucky people
in the public realm that are exposed to my Safety-orange toes that I am just
waiting for the polish to grow out. Like the polish was against my will. Like I
was held down by mob of Vietnamese nail techs. When I was in the junkyard… pulling
a rear differential from a ’73 Torino. “They came out of nowhere and softened
my cuticles and applied two gel coats before I could fight them off!” But, now that I think about it, Neither Becca, nor Naveen even mentioned me getting polish. I guess I wanted to be adorable.
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