Sparkles and Super Glue
Fingernails seem to have turned into a full-blown fashion statement these days. Everywhere I look, people are tapping away with tiny works of art on the ends of their fingers. When I was a little girl, nail polish only came out when we played dress-up. The bottles were tiny, the colors questionable, and the application? A complete disaster. We had more polish on our fingers than on our nails. Future nail technicians, we were not.
I didn’t help matters by being a chronic nail-biter. My poor nails never had a chance. Any time one dared to grow to a respectable length, I nibbled it right back into oblivion.
Adulthood didn’t bring much improvement. I still bit them, picked them, fussed with them basically, I treated my hands like ready-to-use tools that were always half-demolished. Then came acrylic nails. My youngest daughter gifted me a manicure for her wedding, and from that moment on, I was hooked. Acrylic nails were the thing back then, and for the next twenty-three years, I faithfully showed up every three weeks.
My signature look? A soft pink shade a soft, classy, and safe. I never ventured into the bolder colors; they felt like they belonged to braver or older women. Eventually, though, I discovered sparkles. Soft pink with a layer of shimmer on top, which gave me the little bling I loved without feeling like I was being gaudy.
The downside? The cost. Every visit was about $35 plus a tip, and let me tell you, those costs add up quickly. At the time, I felt almost frivolous, like I was the only one in my circle who kept up with nail appointments. I adored that polished, “finished” look.
But acrylics came with their own drama. Nails popped off at the most inconvenient times, especially when I was gardening or doing anything remotely tough on my hands. I carried super glue around like it was lip balm. The struggle was very annoying.
Then one day, I did the math. After twenty-three years, I had basically paid enough to make a down payment on my nail technician’s house. That was the eye-opener. So, I did the unthinkable: I stopped. Cold turkey.
At first, I didn’t miss them. Then I started noticing everyone else’s nails. friends, acquaintances, strangers in the grocery store, all walking around with gorgeous manicures. Meanwhile, my hands looked like they had never seen a manicure and always looked awful. I felt, and still do, feel like the odd one out.
Still, there were drawbacks. I’d noticed that bold, fancy manicures tended to make my hands look older, another reason I hesitate to jump back in. And that price tag? It hasn’t gone down, quite the contrary.
I still garden. I’m still hard on my hands. But the biting is behind me. There are different procedures that I have been tempted to try. If I go back, I know exactly what I’ll choose: a comfortable length, soft pink, and yes… sparkles. Simple, pretty, functional. But with sparkles, of course.
And then there’s my granddaughter’s nails: Recently done and absolutely wild by my standards. Color, patterns, jewels… I’m not even sure how she functions with them. My style these days is simple and “boring,” as she’d probably say. I like being able to pick up a coin or fasten a necklace without fear.
Daring to be different? Not so much. But maybe daring to sparkle (just a little) again.
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