Yesterday I decided to go up the street from work and get my nails did.
This is epic. I just recently acquired my talons. Never, ever have I ever in the past gone to have a manicure with my own nails. I usually show up with irritated little nubs and ask them to glue fake ones on and slather it in paste and shellac until they don’t even look like they belong to a human.
Then I spend the rest of the week going about daily tasks with an added dose of difficulty. Buttoning pants, typing, putting in contacts… how do beautiful people accomplish anything? I usually get enraged and begin to rip off said fake talons within a few short days, throwing my money down the trash and completely ruining my once-unimpressive, now-torn-up-and-disturbing nails. But yesterday I went in to the nail place up the street from work and asked for a French Manicure.
Doesn’t that sound fancy? I have long enough nails to ask for French things. That’s sexy.
Actually, there’s nothing at all sexy about it and going into nail salons in general stresses me out. For one, there’s usually so many women gathered in one place, gabbing about women things that estrogen is dripping down the walls. Two, I can’t for the life of me understand what the technicians are saying. Even if English is their first language, I can’t get a sense of anything while their mouths are blocked by the face masks. And it would be one thing if I just had to get through explaining what I wanted, but then they try to make my experience better by talking to me during the services, and I just have absolutely no idea what’s being said. I like to contribute, and so I try. I tend to keep responses general and ambiguous. You know, something that could pretty much be an appropriate response to anything. I nod and smile and say things like “Yeah, I know what you mean!”, “Right…”, and the all-encompassing “Yeah.”
During my most recent experience, the gentleman who was kind enough to whip my new nails into something presentable saw something on T.V. that got him excited and began to mumble on underneath his face mask, looking at me every so often for my enthusiastic confirmation.
He monologued for 5 minutes.
Five minutes is a long time to wait out not knowing what the hell someone is talking about. There are a thousand things I could be unknowingly agreeing to with all my “rights” and “yeahs”. He could’ve sold me a broken down inn down the street. He could have taken me for a prostitute. He could have told me he was going to go punch a baby in the face and I would have just kept nodding on, waiting for the pain to end.
Luckily, an update for “Dancing with the Stars” came on the television, and it trumped whatever was previously on his mind. With rapt attention, he stared ahead, getting the low-down on what was to be expected from the season finale.
I would have been able to contribute to the conversation he was about to have with himself if only I had T.V. like every other American ever.
But I don’t.
Note to self: watch T.V., practice “yes” phrases, then go get nails done. ♣
The Jackie Blog 
Love your writing voice. Funny as ever. I know exactly what it’s like to have no idea what someone says and I feel bad for asking them to repeat themselves after a while so I rely on my good old “yeah” responses.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Kayla! I really appreciate the kind comment.
LikeLike
I’m working up the courage to attempt a pedicure for the second time in my life. You are inspiring.
LikeLike
oh my goodness, Peg do it! Do it! (chant, pressure, etc.) 🙂
LikeLike
I love french manicures. Too bad it’s so expensive to get it done and I can’t really do it properly myself. Enjoy your “new” nails!
LikeLike
They’re gone already. What a short-lived heaven they were. I’m just too rough-and-tumble for the manicured life I suppose. 🙂 I’d like to think that’s a compliment to myself haha
LikeLike
Hahaha. My work sits right next to a nail salon. I think every person in there speaks vietnamese.
LikeLike
masked Vietnamese – the most indistinguishable of all. 🙂
LikeLike
As someone who guiltily bites my nails off before they can grow into anything, I’m jealous. Even though I’m a guy and wouldn’t ever ask for a French Manicure…
And also, don’t have TV or cable. Whenever someone wants to talk about such pop-culture events, I’m left clueless. And sad.
LikeLike
Hey – I was a guilty nail-biter too. And to be hnoest, I might be there again soon. I’m hanging on to these white tips as long as I possibly can for I fear it’s only downhill from here.
You should totally get a dude manicure. New, awkward experiences are all the rage here on thejackieblog. 😉
LikeLike
You crawled right inside my brain with that one. My manicurist is Vietnamese and also my neighbor, which he equates with me being the only one who can interpret what the heck he’s saying. He goes on for the whole appt time, and really cracks himself up. Like you, I nod and smile encouragingly often, the whole time remaining clueless.
LikeLike
yessss I love brain crawling. I wish I had an interpreter. Someone who can pick up on every accent so I can communicate freely with everyone. I’m good at the dialects and accents I studied in school, but unfortunately, it didn’t include any of the nail technician ones.
LikeLike
*chuckle*
Yeah, hmm mmm – I know what you mean…
I haven’t had a TV for about five years now and I don’t think I would want to plug into all that again for the sake of making conversation – don’t give into – stay free.
Then again, I don’t have do-able nails either and tend to avoid large gatherings of women who do (all those sharp nails. All those even sharper tongues…)
You are one of the braver bloggers I know of.
M.L.
LikeLike
lol thanks, M. Yeah I like the TV-less life. So much less poison and so much less wanting stupid crap. What a huge a waste of time it can be. If I’m truly interested, I’ll Netflix it. It’s more efficient and I get to choose when I watch. Long live TV-less folk!
LikeLike