Little Luxuries

This might not look like much, but it is the very first manicure I've ever received. Or, that I remember receiving, at any rate. I may have had my nails done professionally before in my life, but I don't recall.

I used to polish my nails regularly when I had three tiny children. I'm not sure why...because my hands were wet most of the time back then: rinsing out diapers, washing diapers, washing dishes, washing off bottoms, washing faces, washing hands. But I also had really awesome, strong beautiful nails, too. I think it was related to pregnancy, because my hair grew long and strong and awesome then, too. My hair is still pretty good, but my nails now split and break and peel a lot. I think it is one of those old lady things.

But, since I had fine fingernails, I often polished them. One night, I re-painted them just after I got into bed, and then I laid down with my hands carefully spread out on the top of the covers and sighed and closed my eyes. CoolGuy, from his side of the bed, said, "Um, why do you paint your nails at bedtime?" I said, (without thinking) "It's the only time of day that I know that no one is going to be touching me!" ooooh....umm...I suddenly got his point. There was someone who was hoping for a little touching. So, I didn't go to bed with wet nails ever again.

I actually gave up painting my nails a couple of years after that, too. No time...plus I don't have lovely hands. I have working hands. They've always been big and sturdy. Once a boy gave me his ring in high school. He was a wrestler and played football, and worked on a ranch. But I didn't need to put tape on his ring for it to fit my cow-milker fingers. My best friend in high school, who is as tall as me, could drop her class ring right through the diameter of my class ring. She was willowy and narrow. I was sturdy, not fat, just sturdy.

I've always painted my toes, however. I loved wearing sandals in California. I love cute shoes. But, I had usually worn sturdy shoes to haul hay, or milking boots, or snow boots. It was awesome to live in a place where I could show my toes. Then, one day as I was painting them, Coolguy happened to mention that there were few things more attractive (ahem) than polished toenails. So, they've been painted ever since.

Now, I am at that awkward age--I'm not flexible enough to get my feet close enough to my face so I can see my toenails with my bifocals to care for them. So, I go to the nail lady. She trims and buffs and scrubs and massages. She clips and shapes and emolliates. Then, she has the skill and practice to swipe on that red laquer in one step. I love being pampered and I have nice looking toes on these goofball feet.

Yesterday, she asked if I'd like a manicure, too. I showed her my dry, cracked peeling cuticles and ragged, mishapen nails and she almost recoiled. So, I walked on my damp toes over to her little table and she did the whole ceremony on my fingers. Who knew? They look fabulous! She only put on clear polish because I didn't want to call attention to my manly hands. But, with the cuticles trimmed and the ends shaped and shiny, they actually look really lovely. I keep looking at them. I'll do this again! Who knows, maybe I'll even get pink polish next time.