Monday, May 24, 2010

The Manicure

My hair was freshly colored and highlighted, blown dry and styled, and I was ready for my big week-end in New York City at Brian’s Prom Party fundraiser for “Checking In, The Movie.” As I was getting out my money to pay my friend and stylist, Layla, for her miracle work on my hair, she suggested that I make a quick stop at a nail salon before heading back home to Social Circle. I glanced down at my hands, and knew that her idea was a good one. Layla told me the name of the owner of a nail salon, located in a nearby strip shopping center, and instructed me to tell her that Layla had referred me to her.

It had been over eight years since I’d had a professional manicure. It was when I was in Cancun for Wade’s wedding, that my sister, Molly, and I treated ourselves to a little sister-time in the resort’s beauty salon. I didn’t remember much about the procedure, except that we had a great time being pampered that day. My memories weren’t much help on this day, as I headed across the street to find the nail salon.

I found the salon easily, and upon entering, a voice from ‘way in the back called out to me, “What do you want today?” There were a few customers seated around the shop, most having something done to their feet, which looked like they were soaking in something, but I wasn’t sure who the mysterious voice belonged to. I called back to the voice that I wanted a manicure.

“Pick out a color,” the voice instructed me. I thought it came from a young woman seated at a small table at the back of the shop, but I wasn’t sure. I looked around and found rows and rows of nail polish bottles on a wall shelf close to where I was standing. I gazed at the selection, feeling very much like country come to town. I stood there for at least five minutes, trying to decide what color I wanted. The young woman in the back of the shop never moved or offered to help me, so I was stuck with making my own decision. I finally settled on a neutral shade that looked a little pearly. I thought it might go well with my navy blue sequined dress and pearl necklace that I’d be wearing to the party in New York. As I took it off the shelf, the young woman motioned for me to come back to her post.

I carried my treasured bottle of polish back to the little table, and sat down. First thing I said was that Layla had sent me there. The young Asian woman, whose face was covered except for her eyes with a hygienic mask, gave me no hint that she knew who I was talking about. I handed her the bottle of polish, and I could tell that she was smiling by the squint around her eyes. I questioned her, “Do you think this is a good color for me?” She nodded and said that yes, it was a nice color.

I placed my hands on the table, still looking at her eyes, which now scrunched up along with her forehead as she saw what she had to work with and the challenge ahead. “Go wash your hands,” she instructed me, pointing to a sink nearby. I did as I was told, and returned to the little table. Again, she looked at my hands, and with one word, summed up her thoughts, “Gardening?”

“Yes, I have been,” I answered, embarrassed by the dirt under my nails. To which she asked, “Flowers or vegetables?” As I began telling her about my spring garden, she placed one of my hands into a bowl of warm soapy water, and began working on filing the nails and digging the dirt from the other. As she worked, she asked me questions about my garden and what I was growing, making me feel a little less uncomfortable. She had a delightful voice and lovely accent, muffled by her mask, but I could tell that underneath she was a very pretty young woman. As she finished one hand, she moved the bowl for it to soak while she began working on the other hand. I relaxed, and began to enjoy the experience.

After all the fingers of both hands were cleaned and filed, and cuticles were clipped, she took each hand on at a time in hers to massage with a delightfully scented cream. I was now in heaven. Following my massage, she asked me again to go wash my hands, after which she began with the nail polish, first one hand and then the other, utilizing a small fan to quickly dry the polish on one hand while she polished the other. After two coats of polish and a finishing coat, she left me for a few minutes with my hands under the fan for everything to dry completely. When she returned, she checked my nails, confirming that they were now dry and I was finished.

I followed her to the front of the store. She took off her mask, revealing an absolutely stunning face, and told me that the cost was $10. I was taken aback for a second or two – first, by her classic Asian beauty, and then by the cost. I was expecting at least twice that amount. I happily paid her, giving her a generous tip, thanking her profusely for making my hands look elegant, apologizing again for bringing dirt from my garden with me.

As I headed toward my car, I checked out my nails, confirming that I had selected a very nice color, amazed at how pretty they looked. I also knew that it wouldn’t be another eight years before getting another manicure!

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