I only get manicures and pedicures when Abby is here. It’s something she enjoys and it’s sort of a tradition for us now. In my real world, I cannot afford regular mani/pedis. I never really had a reason to get them since the hospital did not allow painted nails (for infection control). Since I don’t do patient care anymore, I like to have pretty fingernails. As a result, I do my own french manicures at home. My sister comes over and we do our nails together at a fraction of the price. Yes, it’s cheaper than a professional one, but I protect my fingers like they are covered in gold.
This weekend, I attempted the French Manicure on my fingers. I finally perfected the art of painting with my left hand. I have perfected peeing without smudging my drying nails. I perfected undressing for bed without chipping my fingemails. Except this weekend. In ultimate Cynthia fashion, I managed to maneuver my sports bra above and around my head in a half Nelson. My arms were stuck in the air and the sports bra was twisted around my back and neck. I finally had to enlist the help of my husband to get out of that position. After the humiliation and my husband laughing uncontrollably at me, my nails remained perfectly intact. That, my friends, is talent.
