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A Tangerine in a Bowl Full of Oranges

orange nail polish

What a lovely shade of Cheetoh! (Google Images)

I know it is hard to believe, but occasionally I do enjoy doing girly things like getting my nails done. I’m sure my nail lady thinks I am boring because I never dare let acrylic anywhere near me, and I almost always get a neutral color job. I also absolutely won’t opt for shellac. My fingernails are nails for heaven’s sake, not hard wood floors.

Homely nails or not, the experience is anything but plain for me. I get approximately three hours to just sit and do nothing… except maybe explain why I don’t have a boyfriend to “Jenny” or fight off the tickle reflex that leaves me praying I won’t accidentally punt my pedicurist. I am physically incapable of doing so much nothing anywhere else.

There is something about beauty salons that make people itch to talk. It is usually the customers who gossip away while Jenny and the gang nod silently every so often to feign interest. This is the case for all employees at my nail salon except for one particular manicuring machine named Song. She is a talker. Not only does she talk, but she is actually quite the joker. She can find a punch line in any situation. Naturally, I adore her.

Just last week I was letting my feet boil soak while waiting for my pedicurist to come give my feet dirty looks, when Song appeared and began working on the woman’s feet next to me. If you could call them feet. The particularly large woman was there for some relaxation with her two gal pals positioned in the chairs surrounding her. She was on her way to get married, and to add to the excitement, so were both of her friends. It turns out they were having a three-way-wedding, thus Song had three brides’ feet on her hands. Are you lost in extremities yet?

You would think Song would be a bit nervous given the task, and it didn’t help that the brides-to-be were nothing short of bossy, but miraculously she was on top of her game. She wasn’t missing a beat or a single hangnail for that matter. She even managed to successfully locate a “tangerine” colored nail polish at one of the bridezilla’s adamant requests. Meanwhile, I was busy debating whether or not I needed to translate my color request into a fruit name equivalent.

Song finished off her pedicure/comedy routine with a nice quip about not getting the grooms mixed up at the altar and sent the three walking traffic cones on their peachy way. With my feet freed and my toes looking exactly as they did when I arrived, I headed for the door. Before I left,  I slipped Song a ten-dollar bill accompanied by a grin and a wink.

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