FINGERNAILS

 

          In my last post, I indicated I would consider getting my nails done my reward for finishing the deck. This led me to think about my fingernails and their history. You’re dying to hear the story aren’t you.

          When I was about 12 years old, I had a babysitter named Lynn. She had beautiful long red fingernails which I envied. She told me if I stopped biting my fingernails, she’d teach me how to do my nails so they could look as beautiful as hers.

          That was enough incentive for me to stop chewing on the ends of my fingers. I know there are other incentives out there, but I didn’t need to have my fingers covered with hot oil or any other nasty stuff. All I had to do was think about Lynn’s fingernails and the finger heading toward my mouth would stop and pull back.

          So began my long-term care for my fingernails. And, it wasn’t easy because to keep them looking nice, I had to go through the ritual every single Sunday night which took about two hours.

          First, off came the old nail polish. Then I pushed back the cuticles and filed the nails back. When that was complete and my hands were washed and dry, I applied a base coat of polish, followed by two coats of polish and lastly a top coat. I did this religiously and was proud of how my nails looked.

          In high school, I signed up for the secretarial course which included three semesters of typing instruction. Back then, there were no computers and you had to press the typewriter keys very hard to make them rise up and make an impression on the paper. At the end of the line, you had to raise your left hand and push the carriage back to the right in order to turn the paper and begin a new line.

          The first two semesters, I had a male instructor. He didn’t even look at my hands or nails and I did just fine in the classes. For my final semester, the instructor was an old woman with white hair. After a couple of weeks of class, she came by my desk on a Friday and told me, “If I can see your nails over the end of your fingers on Monday, you will automatically fail this class.”

          Oh. My. God. I was so pissed. I went home and wailed to my parents who supported the teacher. They’d never finished high school, so their opinions of teachers were very high. There was no way they were going to go see that teacher and tell her I didn’t have to cut my nails. So, I went to school on Monday without any fingernails.

          Amazingly, I failed every single typing test after that. I couldn’t type without my nails. To give that horrible woman credit, she did let me retake the typing tests, which I passed with flying colors, once my nails grew back.

          All through my life, marriage, children, gardening, cleaning, everything I had to do with my hands, I kept my Sunday night ritual of doing my nails. I always wore gloves no matter what the job was I was doing. The only time I didn’t don those attractive mitts, was to wash myself or my children.

          As my grew older, my body changed and I was probably in my mid-50s when my nails began to split and peel. I could do them Sunday night and by Tuesday have at least one, usually more, that needed care. I was just about ready to give up.

          That’s when my future daughter-in-law introduced me to acrylic nails. The first time I had a “full set” applied, my fingernails hurt so badly that night I figured if it was going to be that way every time, I wouldn’t do it. But, fortunately for me and my nail person, the pain happened only that first time.

          I really liked the acrylic nails. I only had to have them done every two weeks and they looked almost as good at the next appointment as they had at the previous one. I started out with a Vietnamese woman up on Aurora. She moved from there to another location and then to her final location. I followed her.

          Then, I went in for my scheduled appointment to find that she had sold or given her business to her nephew. I never did get that quite straight, but I liked the man who did my nails, his wife and their daughter who was always happy to talk to and entertain me while my nails dried.

          When I retired, I decided I would give up my fingernails, so I had them removed. It took a while for them to grow out and when they did, it was back to the splitting and peeling mode. In addition, I couldn’t do anything without my fingernails. Sewing, writing, anything that involved my hands was more difficult without fingernails. So, I returned to my nail guy and had acrylics replaced.

          I remained their client for thirteen years until they decided to close/sell the business. It was very sad because they had become like family. They talked of their lives and I talked of mine. I took Haley there for manicures and pedicures with me before we went to the Nutcracker.

I didn’t care for the folks who took over the business because I thought they didn’t do a very good job. So, I tried another place which is where I think I got a toenail fungus. Let me tell you, that stuff is horrible. I think it took three years before my big toes returned to normal. I stopped going there and found someone new, quite by chance.

The woman who does my nails now does the best job I’ve ever had. My nails are thin and do not look as though they are false. She went to visit relatives in Vietnam a few years ago and I had to try someone else. On a scale of one to ten, with my person being a ten, that person was maybe a three or four. I know she’ll visit again and I’m not looking forward to her being gone.

Now, I have my nails done every three weeks on the same day at the same time unless something happens and she or I need to reschedule for some reason. I imagine I’ll continue to have my nails done until I can no longer get to the nail salon. It’s an indulgence, but one I believe I more than deserve. I like looking at my hands and seeing the jewel colors on the ends of my fingers.