The very idea of me getting a manicure is enough to shock my friends. When I asked if they'd lose respect for me if I got one, their first response was hysterical laughter. The thought of me sitting in a beauty salon getting my nails done is pretty bizarre, considering I’ve never even had my nails painted before.
But today, I laughed my way to the beauty salon. Yes, you heard it right, I got a manicure. Now, typing is a hassle because I’m paranoid my nail polish will chip. I’m turning into such a girlie girl *runs away screaming*. All those years of laughing at my sister for fussing over her nails have come back to bite me. Maybe I should stop making fun of girls like her because I’m becoming one of them. I've been craving change and, since I can't change my personality, I’m changing my attitude.
I’m not exactly known for being gentle; I like to play rough, so adopting these new delicate hand motions is challenging. I feel like a delicate flower. I can’t punch the wall (not that I’ve punched a wall before, but I’d like to have the option) or scratch my itches (which is a good thing because I always make them worse). What if I want to peel an orange and eat it with my fingers? Now I have to cut everything into smaller pieces and use a fork. Having French tips is such high maintenance!
The beautician told me I had nice hands because of my long fingers and that my nails were nicely shaped. Is that part of the ritual? Complimenting the client before you sandblast their nails? If my nails were so nicely shaped, why did she have to file them? I guess it was to get the squared shape; apparently, they’re better than round ones. The filer scared the crap out of me. I jumped when she held it up to my hand.
"Dude, what’s that thing?!"
"Teehehe, relax! It’s a filer for your fingernails."
"That thing looks dangerous, stay away from me!!"
Then I ran out of the beauty salon, screaming like an escaped mental patient. Just kidding.
I've watched my sister do her own manicure plenty of times, and whenever she filed her nails, it freaked me out because it looked so painful. The noise it made was horrifying. My sister is overseas for three months, so she couldn’t give me a manicure. She used to beg me to let her practice on me, and I’d roll my eyes and wonder why she was so obsessed with French tips. Now, I understand.
The beautician filed my nails, clipped my cuticles (which also freaked me out because it looked like she was cutting funny shapes out of a paper pattern), gave me French tips, and finished off with two clear coats of nail polish. It felt nice to be pampered, and I was happy with the results. I don’t think I’ll ever get acrylics; they look too thick and fake (because they are fake).