Sometimes, girls just want to be pretty. And sometimes, short spurts of "me time" and relaxation are all a girl needs to recharge her strong but delicate battery.
But there is a specific kind of pampering/primping that I will never understand: manicures. Massages, facials, and haircuts all make a modicum of sense to me, but I do not understand why getting a manicure is in any way fun, useful, or desirable.
I can say that now having experienced my first manicure. As I sat there last night watching with fascination the many steps required to have one's nails painted, one thought kept running through my mind: "I can't believe I am paying someone 15 dollars for such a pointless service." That and, "So that's how you're supposed to use that tool."
The last time I even had fingernail polish on my fingernails was probably for a high school dance, and I'm sure I dealt with every awkward pause by meticulously scraping it off.
For someone who couldn't care less about having pretty fingernails, a manicure may be the biggest time-waster on the planet. Seriously--I'm wracking my brains trying to think about something I care about less than dainty fingernails, and the best I can come up with is . . . dirt, and even dirt is more inspiring. In fact, if I ever really wanted to offend someone, I would tell them, "You are less than the daintiest fingernails of the earth." Or even better, I would say, "Your mom is less than the daintiest fingernails of the earth."
But in the good spirit of bachelorette parties, I kept all of these thoughts inside my head while the girls around me chattered away happily and scheduled times for follow-up appointments.
What I didn't expect, however, was the spike of rage that that I felt every time I tried to use my fingers after the large dollops of yellow polish had been planted on my stubby fingernails (I figured that since I was just along for the ride, I would pretend I knew what I was doing and try to match my bridesmaid dress (which is brown with yellow highlights), hence the hideous yellow fingernail polish).
Of all of my limbs, my fingers are the most important to me; they allow me to type, play the piano, eat, get dressed in the morning, function like a normal human being, etc.
So when some person tries (but in this case, fails) to make my nails pretty, they weaken my most important asset. I am convinced that you can't use your fingers if you want your nails to stay pristine. Thick, slimy fingernail polish obliterates the only use fingernails have: opening things, peeling oranges, and scratching that annoying itch on your nose. Lovely nails are only lovely if you never run into things, never go outside, never do any of the things I do every day.
I think the next time I get invited to a bachelorette party with a food and nails theme, I'll opt for a pedicure. I'll just have to warn the pedicure-ist (what is the term for that, anyway?) that when I kick her in the face it is because my feet are extremely ticklish, not because I'm still suppressing rage caused by my last manicure experience.