Lost loyalty at the nail salon
”
Tell the truth!
”
I screamed at myself. It’s not as if we have a long-standing
friendship or our children had play dates and we’ve vacationed
together in Hawaii over the holidays or anything. We have a
business arrangement, but this is so typical of me.
Lost loyalty at the nail salon
“Tell the truth!” I screamed at myself. It’s not as if we have a long-standing friendship or our children had play dates and we’ve vacationed together in Hawaii over the holidays or anything. We have a business arrangement, but this is so typical of me.
I could feel the lie leaving my lips even as I fought against it.
She surveyed my hands and made clucking noises. She was chastising me for having a bad nail job. This wasn’t the first time. I’m a repeat offender and I think she’s on to me.
“I’ve been so busy,” I began, avoiding eye contact. “I’ve had meetings all week at work and I was out of town.” Gee, why didn’t I just go for broke and reserve my seat in the ultimate hot climate after my own death and say I was at a funeral?
Truth: I was busy all week…from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Then, mostly I just flopped on the couch and vegged out until bedtime, while still managing to help with homework and pretend to make nutritious suppers. (It’s a game I play, “How Much Can I Do While Never Leaving the Couch?”)
On the weekends, I didn’t want to sit still while someone messed with my hands. That would also require that I actually get dressed at some point. I had more couch time coming to me and I was making valiant attempts at yanking ugly shrubbery out of the front yard with the help of some rope, The Husband and his Suburban (Which was really cool, by the way).
But I eventually had to repair the damage I’d incurred over the last three weeks. Acrylic nails were hanging on by threads. By the time I finally caved in, her salon was closed. I had to go to her rival, who was across the street, not to mention conveniently close to The Boy’s Tae Kwon Do school.
I could feel her eyes boring into me as I finally met her gaze and said the worse thing a client can say to a nail technician.
“I went to someone else,” I mumbled, eyes down-cast. “But she’s not as good as you,” I smiled brightly, trying to make it all better.
“It was just that one time and I didn’t even like it.” I went on. “She didn’t understand how I liked it done.”
What?
I felt awful. This nice lady who transforms my fingers from the sausages that they are into elegant, dare I say, hand-model worthy works of art, looked betrayed.
I can remember her saying after each appointment, “Okay, see you next time!” in her cheery voice. I would wave and say, “See you next time,” And I meant it, too, as I walked out the door.
Now I sat there, thinking, “Yeah, sure; next time. Until another more convenient salon comes along,” and bemoaning my apparent lack of loyalty.
She clucked for a minute more and then set to work repairing the inferior nails showing the ravages of channel surfing, gardening, typing and impatient nail drumming as I wait for The Boy to come down the stairs in the morning for school.
I wondered why I couldn’t just level with her. I’m a person, she’s a person. We all have lives. I don’t owe her any explanation. I began to get defensive…with myself. It’s a free country. I can go anywhere I want to have fake nails slapped on, whenever I want.
Her hands worked over mine, jagged edges replaced by smooth sculpted surfaces.
This is crazy. It’s not like I signed a contract or something. Besides, I’ll bet she doesn’t even remember my name.
Like always, she took my car keys and purse for me so I wouldn’t smudge the pristine polish and sat me at the nail dryer. I’d already paid and tipped, and like always, hoped it was a nice enough tip to avoid raucous laughter after I leave.
She checked the polish after a few minutes and declared, “All done! Okay, see you next time, Kelly.”
(Expletive) She does remember my name.
“See you next time,” I said, and meant it once again.
