This afternoon I went for a manicure. It hadn’t been that long since my last one but I had done some irresponsibly-gloveless gardening and my nails were splitting. So, to avoid the appearance of diva-ness (although, in my town, it honestly wouldn’t have caused a ripple), I went to a different-than-usual nail salon. This was a mistake.
A young man waived me over and reluctantly I sat down opposite him to begin what became a very tedious procedure. Waah, waah, poor little rich girl, right? I know it’s not PC but I don’t like male manicurists. On the whole I find them to be rough, careless and surly (what I want in a man but not a manicurist – tee hee, just kidding!). This guy put on a surgical mask which immediately made me feel like a leper, then proceeded to take an hour (an HOUR) to file and polish my nails. He was looking everywhere but my hands, consistently sanding the skin around my nails and he must have left me at least eight times to answer the phone or talk to his friend. The back massage at the end – my second favorite part of a manicure – lasted precisely 0.7 seconds. AND, they didn’t have the color ‘Wink’ so I had to settle for ‘Hearts and Tarts.’ So a loose leper.
Manicures are my one beauty indulgence and I usually get one once a month, if that. I don’t even need the color really, I just love the hand massage and the way it makes my nails look neat. A manicure that isn’t relaxing is a waste of time and money.
We should all have such problems …
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