Editors note: My former boss pointed out that I haven’t written for nine days. That is partly due to a lack of time and partly because the content below is such a frivolous, vapid topic. I promise deeper things to come.
A professional manicure is hardly the stuff of a bucket list (not that Cindy Files is a true bucket list and not that I’m old enough to need a bucket list).
But I still hadn’t been able to fit this simple bit of personal grooming into my life in at least 15 years. Yes, I file my nails, but I certainly don’t paint them. When I used to try at home, I’d lose patience with the drying time and go off to pet the cat or engage in some equally ruinous activity.
For years I have been the only person in my yoga class without toenails that pop with color.
Even my cats get regular nail care, although there is usually a good deal of howling involved.
As a distraction from politics, gray skies and impending income tax prep, I recently visited a salon and picked a wine-colored polish that I’d have named Merlot but manufacturer OPI called the perplexing Can’t Read Without My Lipstick. (Say what?)
Can’t Read is a deep, rich shade that would fit beautifully with a LBD, natural pearls and an expensive evening at a four-star restaurant.
But every manicure I’ve ever had ended in chipped nails about two hours after I’ve left the salon. Would these nails survive until dinner, elegant or otherwise?
The nail technician assured me that the polish she used would last longer than the products from my long-ago past.
And for four days my nails looked fantastic. My husband mocked my brightly painted claws, but that was to be expected. He’s a heathen, unfamiliar with such niceties.
But on day five, I remembered why I had not tried that hard to have my nails polished. Flakes came off the fingernails like falling snow.
I wasn’t cleaning, I wasn’t cooking and I wasn’t gardening.
In fact, for most of one day, I sat in a car doing nothing except watching mile markers flash by.
Perhaps I have differently-abled fingernails, ones unable to hold polish. Short of a remedial polish, this is an activity I might not repeat, at least for another 15 years.
Conclusion: Not worth the effort