True to the female species, I love salon day. With admirable ardor, I reach half an hour early for my twelve o’clock appointment.
‘You’re early!’ the receptionist exclaims.
‘Yep. I’ll wait.’ I say.
After a cup of coffee and five semi-lame articles in Vogue, I am being led to a leather chair that has an unbelievable ‘neck and shoulder massage’ setting. Brilliant!
As my digits are being buffed and polished, I strike up a conversation with the manicurist Alan (pseudo-name of course). He starts telling me about the wonders of reflexology and even gives me awesome hints about how to treat my sluggish thyroid with pressure points.
Amazed, I ask about his other areas of knowledge. He knows about Siddha Yoga, Reiki, and many other wonderful and undervalued forms of healing (thankfully being rediscovered by a growing range of insatiated people seeking higher levels of physical and spiritual understanding). He explains how he can send energy to the head chakra and heal headaches. In his experience, the key to our entire earthly experience can be controlled by chakras and energy.
Blurry vision. Blackout.
The foot reflexology does it’s trick. I wake up to glittering nails and incredibly watery eyes. I believe have just experienced what they call ‘spa nirvana’.
We continue our conversation and I soon discover that we hold similar beliefs about the universe.
‘It’s true,’ he enthuses. ‘What we wish for, with our entire being, comes to pass!’
I nod my head and clutch my fists in delight, feeling inspired. His positivity is that strong. His belief is that powerful.
I smudge my nails for the second time. He shakes his head, laughs and repaints them.
‘It happens all the time. Let it dry for five minutes.’ he urges.
OK. I’ll make myself a statue of sorts.
Ten minutes and a minor cramp later, I get up. My nail polish can’t possibly smudge now, I convince myself. Finally! Perfect nails fit for a lady. Bellissimo!
I pay my dues and tips, write a positive feedback, and leave with a huge grin. Money well spent.
I reach home and flash my shiny nails to my grandma. To my horror, my pinky’s nail paint has a chip that looks like the boot of Italy. No!
‘What a surprise,’ I say to myself, rolling my eyes. Ever the klutz, Shilpa. Ever the ape.
I guess I’ll never be the girl with the perfect nails.
I don’t mind, I guess.
If I can just be the girl with the magical fingers.