Tuesday, 8 October 2013


(If I were Beyonce, this is the part where
I would toss my hair and say "Fierce!)
One of the nicer things about being a girl is that you can be having a totally crap day and then you can go to, say, a nail salon and get an instant mood boost for $25. It's a pretty terrific deal. 

I treated myself to just such a boost on Sunday, because I had a premonition that Monday was coming and I wasn't ready to face that with curly hair and man nails.  

I was very clear about what I wanted. I spend the better part of my days looking at pics of Rihanna's tatts and weaves; I think I know what's on trend.
Unfortunately, the esthetician at the salon did not share my divine vision. She wanted to give me the square tips and clear polish she gives everyone else who walks in there. 
"You want French manicure, okay?" she told me.
"No, I want pointy nails," I said.
"Pointy nail?"
"Yes. Pointy. That's the style now." 
She shrugged. "Okay. What colour?" 
"Clear more natural," she advised.
Yeah, I'm wearing silver eye shadow, fake eyelashes, bleached blonde hair, tanning cream and six inch heels. Do I look like the natural type to you? I said in my inside voice.
"It's okay," I said out loud. "I like it."
She nodded and quietly got to work. 

Half an hour later, I had the nails of my dreams. My hands felt happy and flirty and I could swear they winked at some guy in line at Tim Hortons. He smiled. "Wow, those are some wicked nails," he said.
"You little sluts!" I chided my hands after he'd gone.
Then the woman serving me said, "Nice nails! The white is awesome."
That was two days ago, and I'm still getting compliments. So I'm feeling pretty jazzed, pretty pleased with myself. 
There's oney one problem with my goregouss new anailsL: that being:T I CAN'T TYPE  A GODDAM THING. I keep hittin the wrog heys or nol keys at all and havig to go bhak and correcdt myself. It's very fryuswtraitg.

That whole sentence up there? That is the uncorrected version of how I type now thanks to my sexy new nails. It took me twice as long as it usually does to write this. And work? That's hilarious. I'm pretty sure my co-workers heard me say, "fuck" 70 times today. Also, opening bottles, picking up change, dialling a phone, doing up zippers and buttons? Pretty much impossible.
All things considered, I think it's worth it.