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.