Happy Halloween

In lieu of participating in Company X’s annual Halloween celebration last Friday, I decided to take a “mental health” day off from work and spend an afternoon of shopping and manicures with my mom.

Rather than go to our tried and tested mani/pedi spot, my mother insisted on checking out a newly-opened nail place that she had recently discovered in search of “a better deal.”

Ignoring for a moment that my mother’s “Magic Nails Salon” was located in the city’s oldest part of town, I accepted her proposal without protest-as I am flexible like that, and she was fitting the bill; however as soon as we pulled up to the store front, I had the sinking suspicion that any money we saved on manicures would quickly be spent on necessary, post-manicure tetanus shots.

My suspicions were, unfortunately, confirmed when we pulled up to the structure where the nail salon was located. Before housing nail salons and other such shops, the building itself had probably served as a two-family home; so long ago perhaps, that by the looks of the place, some of the town’s founding settlers had probably lent a hand in its construction.

Once we entered the store, I was quickly assigned to a small man-icurist named Kevin, who silently led me to his booth, where I was instructed to remove my rings and sit down.

For a blessed while, Kevin completely ignored me, choosing instead to converse with another salon employee in Vietnamese. This discussion lasted for quite a while, with Kevin breaking from the dialog only once to exclaim, “I don’t care if your husband’s a doctor!”

Finally, he turned his attention back to me and spoke.

Kevin: Are you married?
Westchester: Noooooo….
Kevin: …….Oh my, you have short nails! No, these are no good. You want me to put tips on them?
Westchester: No, no. My nails are ok.
Kevin: (Pause) No, these are not ok. Let me put on tips. You give me three months, and I can have your nails as long as MINE!

And with that, Kevin threw down the nail file he was holding and matter-of-factly fanned out his nails for my viewing pleasure. Each tiny digit was adorned with dramatically long fingernails-whose extreme lengths were only to be out done by the longest nails that adorned his pinky fingers. Kevin’s eyes flared with pride, and I bit my lip to hold back the screams that so desperately wanted to come out.

At that point, my mother shouted over her shoulder that I was a life-long nail biter, far beyond any sort of nail-biting redemption.

Kevin slowly shook his head in sad resignation; my short nails a personal affront to the very long, very cat like nails he had worked so hard to cultivate on his own hands.