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?”
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.
“Oh! Boy or girl?”
“Uh…” What?!? How did this happen? Why did I just lie?
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.