Got nail art?
Went to the salon last night to get my nails done and chose an uncharacteristic bubble-gum, Barbie pink color. Who am I kidding?---having nails at all is uncharacteristic for me,--but I've been having fun with it. At first I went with the Diva forties-esque, fire-engine red which reminded me of my Nana, whose delicate hands were always perfectly manicured. Then I chose a more neutral brownish-red that went with most of my clothes. So last night why the pink? A whim....Inner valley girl took over and like *totally* thought the pink was like adorable. Fer sure.
I get in there and a small Asian woman sanded and buffed my hands until I felt like she might hit bone. An hour later (this is an art and a science involving seriously toxic chemicals and unlimited amounts of patience) she allowed me to wash the inch-thick layer of sawdust off and we proceeded to the painting portion of the evening. She painted a nail, looked at me and grunted with one raised brow to gauge my approval, I nodded and we were off. Lots of nonverbal communication happening. For most of the time she worked on my hands, I was mesmerized by the deliciously tacky lit-up moving waterfall picture behind her head. Kitschy and fabulous in its horrifyingly lifelike quality---after awhile I found myself having to pee it was so realistic.
So...two coats are deftly applied and she is chatting happily to the woman at the next station in a high-pitched singsong Thai dialect that I couldn't decipher from my very limited acquaintance with occasionally ordering Pad Thai from the local restaurant. I'm linguistically challenged in the Asian languages...I've almost got the Romance languages covered...at least enough to fake my way through a bit. But she could have been discussing the sorry state of the union or the sorry state of Donald Trump's hair for all I knew.
But I was daydreaming anyway....thinking of all of the things I need to do to get ready for my impromptu houseguest (my cousin needs a place to crash for a few weeks and it'd be nice to scrounge him up some clean sheets for the air mattress), helping him find a job and a place to live---and all while winding up my own gig and finding some new projects to pay the light bill.
While my brain took it's hamsterwheel overdrive spinaround, I noticed that my little friend had sneakily pulled out two tiny bottles. One of black paint and one of gold glittery paint. Before I could register what she was even doing she was artfully painting swishy black and gold leafy lines onto one of my pinked-up shinies. What?!
"Oh...um....no---that's ok...really---I...um..." I lost the power of coherent speech.
She was insistent.."Just one nail...cute, cute!"
So.....not wanting to offend, I let this woman deface my nail and make it its own little Vegas, complete with gold lame accents. Elvis lives---on my nail! I swear my nail could give Celine a run for her money. Look out Siegfried! Look out Roy! Here comes Courtney's nail....
You change one little thing about yourself and BAM!...you are transformed from valleygirl to showgirl and you suddenly feel like you need to start looking for a hairy-chested, gold-chained guy named Chet to take you out for a lobster and champagne cocktail dinner. Fuggedaboutit!
Now I need to adapt my whole wardrobe accordingly...buy more plunging-necklined, sequiny tops, high-heeled metallic boots. Tan regularly. Cultivate the look.
Or I could always just pay attention next time and/or speak up and say 'no thanks' to the airbrush assault on my personage.
But what fun would that be?