ManiPedi

I went for a manicure/pedicure with Mandi yesterday and therefore opened myself to the ridicule of the manicurist.
She held up my hand and said, "What have you been doing to your fingers? Doesn't this hurt?"
I said, "Yes."
She said, "What? You enjoy the pain?"
I said, "No...I can't help it. I chew on my nails."
"Your nails are in fine shape. Your cuticles look painful!"
"I know...I pick at them."
"You pick at your cuticles?" (Judgy-wudgy was a bear...)
"I can't help it. It's a habit I come by genetically."
"Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
And that was the end of the conversation--until she realized that I hadn't shaved my legs.
Listen, I don't smoke. I bite and pick at my cuticles when I'm nervous or agitated--which is most of the time. It feels good--satisfying. The way a cigarette must feel to someone who smokes after a meal. So sue me. I suppose shaving my legs would have been the polite thing to do for her, but I forgot. Sue. Me.
But seriously. Why did she think I was there? If I had nice cuticles, I wouldn't need her help. She did a good job, though. I'll definitely be going back. With earplugs.


Judgement from a girl
paid to fix my yucky nails.
Don't want to hear it.