Wednesday, September 28, 2005

About Last Night...

Did you see the truck that ran me over? Because I didn’t see it coming. I mean, I should have known it was coming. The signs were there. When I get a call from Mav saying, “Meet me here at this time. We are going out tonight.” Well, you have no choice really. Especially when we realize that we haven’t had a Mav-Boa outing in something like 2 weeks. Withdrawals happen. You need the fix. So you do the math. THAT is where that truck came from.


But, um, why are my fingernails BLACK? Not painted black in a gothic style. Not black-from-fungus black either. They look like I just got back from finger painting class – with india ink. Either that or I was working on a car last night. But that is unlikely. I’m the girl who looks under the hood and says, “OK. Which is the engine?” And I didn’t just get back from Calligraphy class either.

I remember: I was at a classy bar, drinking red wine with Mav and emergency room doctors. I remember Mav falling on her ass. Did I say “classy”? Well, I certainly didn’t mean to imply that WE were classy. Remember, we were Mav and Boa – The Stuff That Makes Stories. Whether you like it or not. Or whether we like it or not. It's the story of the Black Grungy Fingernails. I don't want the starring role.

Because, you know what? The Mystery Black will not come off! I have tried nail polish remover and I have tried scrubbing my fingers to nubs with a loofah. All to no avail. And I have a date tomorrow night. Otherwise, I could care less. I don't feel the need to be perfectly Dolled Up, in the least. But trust me when I say it looks really dirty.

So I can’t believe I am uttering this out loud but: I think I am going to have to get a manicure now. You think: What, pray tell, is wrong with that? Nothing if that is what you like. But me? I HATE manicures. First, I don’t like color on my fingers. So you say: Paint nude or get a French! To which I retort: The black!! Need to cover the black. So now I have to get color. Not to mention that every time I get a manicure, the paint chips within the first 24 hours and my cuticles end up looking like shredded lettuce. And it takes weeks of nail therapy to correct. And I just had them looking pretty. Until the BLACK.

Now my disdain for mannies does not affect my toes, however. Pedies – I love. Well, that’s a lie. I like the end product – what the pedie means at the end of the day. I like to look down and see little pretty moons of color. And that one time I had the flower painted on my big toes was the bomb! But the actual act of a Pedie – I hate. Am I the only one who doesn’t find them enjoyable or relaxing? First, I am very ticklish so hee-hee-hee-do-you-HAVE-to-touch-my-feet? And filing toenails – to me – is the equivalent cringe performance of fingernails down a chalkboard.

So – for me - pedies are just a necessity because I love pretty toes. I wait as long as possible before I have to re-cure the feet. And I just had them done, like last week so the toes are pretty right now so I don't want to re-do them. Because as I just said: I hate GETTING the pedicure. You say: Why would you have to re-do them? To which I reply: Um, they are kind of purple. A purple that looks pretty on my toes but will NOT translate into pretty on my fingers. It goes against My Rule of Color: The Nails Version. (Another Rule in this series is The Car Version. I will never have a car that is a primary color - secondary is OK. So no TRUE red, blue, or yellow. But a shade thereof is OK - for example, burgundy.) So it's Anything Goes on the feet. Even though I usually just do Ballet Slippers white. But this last time I HAD to venture out and get all crazy with the purple. But the hands are the important part of the Rule. And herein lies the problem. They can only be red or white. Red won't go with the purple. White won't cover the black.

So I am facing possible Manicure AND Pedicure Time.

But I found a business card for some cab driver named, Goddy, in my purse this morning.

Mav, we spoke to God last night?


James said...

I swear you have the greatest adventures. Where are people like you when I'm out and about having a quick after work drink and would like some good conversation.

Maybe the cabbie broke down and you were helping fix the engine? or push the cab?


Mav said...

It is probably from the credit card receipt from that $100 bottle of wine or the dirt from the floor when you had to pick me up, not once, but twice. Oh what a night!