I tried, I really tried.

Just after I posted that I was going to “keep it real“, I was faced with a confusing situation.

I went to get a manicure.  I never liked getting manicures before I discovered gels.  But now, I’m hooked.  Nail polish that doesn’t chip for two weeks???  Even in the restaurant business when you’re constantly washing your hands?

Oh, I am a fan.

Anyway, I’ve been going pretty frequently to my favorite place on Main Street.  There is always some bad Bravo series playing that I would never watch at home.  The girls tell me when I picked out a color that is bad for my skin tone.  (This was shocking, but I really liked the color that was much better for me)  They give you candy.

I really like it there.

But yesterday, I was feeling kind of out of it when I got there.  I just wanted to fix my nails back to my Ravens purple color and then go home to sleep.  I sat down with one of the girls and started reading the closed captioning to that show about finding millionaires love/a hot girlfriend.  In this episode, all the girls that the millionaires picked had distractingly giant boobs.

I started feeling worse and worse as I sat there.  I realized that I was shaking and I felt a little dizzy.  I stopped reading the TV and started concentrating on my hands.

I won’t get into details, but I started to realize that it was a super awkward manicure.  Nails were getting half done – and then redone.  Nails were being painted in weird order.  (index, middle, pinky, thumb, ring…?)  Nails were getting a top coat and then another layer of color.

“Are you going out tonight?”

“Ah, no plans.  I’m super tired.  Probably just a movie night for me.”

I don’t mind a little small talk.  We talked about how much I love this nail color that I’m getting it again.  She showed me her favorite color.  We talked about the rain.

“Do you live alone?”

“No.  I live with my husband and my dog.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re so young!”

I always get this.  The conversation kind of ends here.  One nail got one last swipe of color after I thought we were totally done.  Literally.  One swipe.  Right down the side.  Then she put oil and lotion on my other hand asked me if I wanted an eyebrow wax.  What?  Oh, no thanks.  Ok, then I needed to pay.

Now.  With my one oily hand.

Um, ok?  I struggle to get my wallet out of my purse with one slippery hand…

“How old is your baby?”

Wait… what?

“My what?”

“Your baby.”

So I have one oily hand and one hand in the dryer box thing, oil all over my wallet, my hour and a half parking meter is up, I’m worried about getting a ticket and I’m feeling like I’m going to pass out.  I was not at all thinking about keeping it real.

“Uh…”  Did she think I said baby instead of dog earlier?  Do I correct her?  Should I tell her my dog’s age?  If I say 4 (how old my dog is) it’ll start a whole new conversation about how I had my baby so young.

I really don’t want a parking ticket.  I don’t want to pass out.  I really just want to go home.

“18 months.”

“Oh!  Boy or girl?”

“Uh…”  What?!?  How did this happen?  Why did I just lie?

“Girl.”

Who am I?!?  What am I saying?!?

“I’m sorry, I have to go, my meter is up.  Looks great, thanks!”

“Ok!  See you next time!”

I literally ran out of there.  Oily hand, awkward manicure, fake baby and all.

Oh, but no ticket.  Thank goodness for that.

xoxo