Guilty. I am absolutely guilty of this heinous crime. I've cheated...twice. My heart is heavy as I type this and admit to you my failure to be faithful to that sweet, Vietnamese woman who takes such good care of my hands and feet. Lily welcomes me with the most enthusiastic greeting and bright smile every time I walk through her door. She helps me choose the right colors, gives the best massages on the planet (this is no lie), and sometimes even feeds me. How can I NOT love this woman? Everyone who works for her is just like her...not perfectly so, but damn, do they come close! And they all try their hardest to speak English!!! If they don't, one of them will translate for you to keep you in the loop and part of the conversation.
Most nail salons employ ladies who barely speak English and yap away to each other the entire time you are there, forcing you to feel like you are being trash-talked for approximately an hour, sometimes longer. It is the most uncomfortable feeling in the world and there is not a damn thing you can do. They are wielding sharp instruments and believe me, one slip and you are dripping blood. A fair amount of the time you sit there, with your hands in theirs, you are smiling and nodding and hoping to hell they like you. At least enough to not "accidentally" file your nail so hard they leave a gash in your finger. Guys, you may think I am totally bullshitting, but ask any woman in your life who has manicured hands if she has feared for her fingers' safety while getting her mani.
Forget about the fact that even if you research the shit out of the place you choose, they still may not be as clean or hygiene-conscious as you'd prefer. Germs lurk everywhere, especially in tubs at the base of those oh-so-comfy spa chairs you enjoy. The massage remote control provides distraction from the possibility of soaking your feet in a tub filled with raging bacteria which could leave you with boils at a minimum, fungal infections or e-coli if you are really lucky. Nail clippings and powder from tip applications shouldn't be on every free surface. These should only be seen as you are getting your nails done, and cleaned as the process is happening. The tub should be sparkly clean and the water should be filled in front of you.
My own daughter cheated, too, and found herself in a salon where they thought that it was perfectly fine to dump the dirty water in which she had her hands soaking into the tub where her feet were currently soaking. Fucking nasty. I don't care if it IS my own hands, don't mix the goddamn water. That is unsanitary as hell, and I won't stand for it. Sanitizing is not an option, you are dealing with skin. Skin has teeny tiny cuts on it all the time whether you know it or not. These are like little germ huts, waiting for the next bacterial infection to come oozing over and inhabit the place. Pretty hands and feet should never land you in the ER.
Back to my own glaring infidelity issues. My daughter asked me to accompany her to the nail salon that her best friend frequented, and reluctantly I agreed. I feared change. I feared betraying Lily. My fears were not unfounded. We arrived at the salon and were greeted by what can only be described as a sweat shop-like atmosphere, filled with employees and rich, white, Walnut Creek women. The RWWC women are a whole other topic, so I won't get into that right now. Let's go back to the sweat shop atmosphere. The door was wedged open to reveal wall-to-wall employees, milling about, some shouting back and forth to each other, while others would walk away from their clients to buy fruit from a man in the parking lot selling out of the back of his truck . At this point, I started to sweat a little. These were the women who would be holding my hands in theirs and using those sharp instruments I mentioned earlier. I felt stared at and very uncomfortable. Scarce was the amount of English I heard while sitting and waiting for my turn. Finally, I was called to sit down at a manicure table. Tracy asked for my name and asked what color of gel polish I'd like. After I told her, I anxiously awaited what was supposed to be a relaxing, enjoyable experience. She moved quickly, soaking one hand while filing the nails of the other. OK, fast I don't mind, carry on, Tracy. Next stop, cuticle cutting. This is actually one of the parts I look forward to because my cuticles grow at warp speed and this process prevents me from chewing on them like a hungry animal. Tracy seemed to fear my hands because I barely felt the friggin cuticle clippers touching me, nor did I see the usual amount of skin being cut from my overgrown fingers. Bitch, do your job! Clip that shit OFF! Not wanting to anger her, I didn't ask her to dig any deeper. I figured, this isn't the worst offense, let's see how the rest goes. Speeding through the rest of the preparation process, I wasn't too horrified, so I sat quietly.
GEL TIME!!! I love gel manicures. They are so perfect-looking and they last without chipping for two weeks. This may not sound as exciting to you as it does to me, but this is cause for celebration. I am very rough on my hands and this process is nothing less than miraculous. She paints on the clear coat and so far, so good. Next, the espresso color I chose to start my summer break. This choice was made because when I consulted with my daughter about the shade, and was vacillating between a shell pink and something a bit darker, she told me to go big or go home. So, I went with an almost black shade of brown.
She slapped the first coat on quickly and had me stick my hands into the UV light boxes to cure the polish. This part is particularly enjoyable to someone like me with perpetually cold hands. When she gestured for me to take my right hand out for the next coat, I held back a shriek. My nails looked like they had undulating waves of thick shit on them. I launched into a panic, and began showing Tracy my fingers and demanded she do something about it. Her reply still echoes in my head. "OKAY, OKAY, DON'T WORRY!" This was said in the kind of impatient tone you reserve for the most annoying child you know. Luckily for her, she smoothed the waves out nicely. However, my nails looked like a drunk painted them with a paint roller because she missed several large spots on four nails.
I didn't want to argue with her, I had neither the time nor the patience. The bitch got no tip, naturally. I don't reward shitty work and bad attitude. We left with me telling my kid, never again, never will I step out on Lily. What did I do today? I had to get this now grown-out gel shit removed and re-done. I sheepishly went back to the place I swore I'd never set foot in again. Why? Because I didn't want Lily to know that I had been disloyal. This is a vicious cycle that must be broken. Today was the last time. Fortunately, my nails came out much better than last time. Unfortunately, I've put myself in the same fucking position as before. Will I soak my own nails at home to remove the gel this time? You bet your sweet ass I will. Lily can never know my secret. Will I whore myself out and go back to that other place? Are you friggin kidding me right now???
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