maintenance and manicures

I've spent the day finishing up the work on the upstairs baseboards. The rooms are looking good, but my hands are a mess. I hate wearing gloves, and as a result, I have paint in places I don't want to think about, including between my fingers and under my nails, and this after scrubbing so well and so long I could probably have done surgery.

I'm going to the symphony tomorrow night and Sunday afternoon, and to look presentable I’m going to need a manicure and pedicure. Every time I go for a manicure, I feel as if I’m back in high school and I’ve been called out of class to the principal’s office. I know I haven’t actually done anything wrong, but I also know that I’m going to end up feeling as if I have. Whether the manicurist is male or female, young or old, it’s always the same: they take one look at my hands and nails, tsk tsk loudly, and ask, "What is it you do for a living again?"

They never seem to understand that I prefer my own nails, and I prefer them short and unpolished most of the time. Nevertheless, short nails or not, I’m not above having them painted a glorious Kickass Red when I’m in the mood, and when I’m going to the symphony, I’m in the mood. I always go to the same place for my manicures and pedicures, and the regulars know not to try to talk me into Power Nails (acrylics) or their idea of a good color. I have very definite ideas of my own on what constitutes a good color, and as I’m paying, I get to choose, and as for Power Nails...forget it. I tried those once, years ago, when I was going to some very dressy event. I managed to dislodge one within the first couple of hours (I think I was opening a jar and slipped), which meant a trip back to the shop to have it redone, and then...those frigging long nails got in the way of everything I do. I couldn’t get them off fast enough, and getting them off was no picnic...I vowed never again, and I’ve kept that promise.

I’m a low maintenance woman. Most of the time, I do my own manicures and pedicures and even cut my own hair, although a couple of times a year I do have my hair cut professionally. I’ve been going to the same guy for haircuts for several years, and his reaction on seeing me is similar to that of the manicurists.

Tuan always welcomes me warmly, no matter how long it’s been since I’ve been in. I suspect the warmth with which he greets me has more to do with the fact that I tip well than with any actual desire on his part to see me. Nevertheless, he always gives me a big hug, and exclaims enthusiastically: "Zhoodie! Long time, no see! Welcome back!" He then takes my hand and leads me to a chair in front of a huge mirror, with lighting that makes me look about 15 years older than I am (at least, I HOPE that’s what’s happening in that mirror). I sit down in the chair and he moves behind me and begins to run his hands through my hair. Slowly picking up long strands of my hair from each side of my head, he looks at the strands noncommitally, and then, making eye contact in the mirror, says, in a sad voice, "Zhoodie, you do not geev me much to work weeth!"

What can I say? Tuan is right.

Tomorrow the manicurists have their work cut out for them.