You Look Like the Older?

This is my second mani/pedi ever and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. There is a man holding both of my hands, so it feels intimate, like we should be talking. But I am not good at chit chat. Also I can't understand him. I know it's a stereotype that it's hard to understand people in nail salons. Today it is also a reality.

There is a People magazine on top of the nail polish display case. Maybe I should read it. That seems like a challenge, since my hands have cuticle softener on them. Do my nail beds suck? What are nail beds, anyway? I feel like I'm failing at being a woman somehow. I am bad at getting a manicure.

What I want to do is take a photo for Instagram, but I'm not sure if that's something people do. I break down and ask when he is massaging my hands. He says something that sounds like yes, but then when I take the picture, he jumps and smiles nervously.

"I didn't get your face," I tell him. "See?" I show him and he nods. In the photo, it looks like our hands are having sex. I post it on Instagram anyway.

He massages my arm and then punches me in the shoulder, which is supposed to feel good, I think. "You muscles," he says, shaking my arm.

I've been working out. It must be showing. But he's shaking my arm...so I need muscle? He knows I'm tipping him: I have muscles. That must be it.

I had planned to go sophisticated and chic with a nice greige color. Pinterest tells me greige is the color to beat. (And if I were to go with a pattern, it should be chevron.) But he sees me eyeing the blues and pulls out a light turquoise. "I love it," I say.

I have to put my phone down while he is actually painting my nails. I like painting: oil and acrylic, mostly. His brush work is exquisite. I imagine him painting a botanical still life, perfecting the veins of a leaf with a quick sleight of hand.

I try to relax but between the language barrier and losing the crutch of my Twitter feed, I'm more tense than when I arrived. The tangle of my loud thoughts increases in direct proportion to the quiet stretching between us.

"You look like the older?" he asks when he is finished.

"I'm sorry?"

"You like the owner?"

I pause a beat or two, then smile brightly. "Yes, yes," I say. I have no idea. None. But my nails look fabulous and I'm fully relaxed. Or, at least, not more stressed than when I arrived. I give him what I hope is a good tip. On the drive home, I can't stop staring at my bright, lovely nails.

________

Five days later I have a revelation in the middle of lunch: You like the color?

I love it! No matter what Pinterest says about greige, this color is perfect for me.

__________
Linking up with Yeah Write this week. If YW were to choose a nail color, it wouldn't be greige. But it might be grellow. Come read some other writers and decide for yourself.