Sex Nails

Last night I threw caution to the wind. Let my hair down.  Broke away. Got jiggy.  Last night, I blew away 5k Rs on pampering myself, and I don’t regret a single paisa.

I decided to try out the new Nail Spa that’s opened up nearby. We’d been eyeing each other for weeks, it knew pretty nails are my weakness and I knew it would give me just that.  Yesterday, I decided to cut the chase, cease the commercial tension that had been building up, and make an appointment for acrylic nails.  I emerged 4 hours later with not only shiny, pretty nails with little diamantes on them (complimentary), but also pretty tiptoes, happy feet and soothed, massaged legs.  Definitely worth the three zeros.

The woman who did my nails was quite a charmer.  Okay, I admit it, I was too busy oogling her 4 carat square-cut shiner to be paying any attention to her words but I did catch the main drift.  She’s only a couple of years older than I am, says ‘loo’ instead of washroom, is obsessively finicky about her work (she applied the same diamante 3 times until it was perfectly centred), harbours a great dislike for the media and owns the art gallery next door.  It got me thinking.  Here was a 21-ish year old woman, owner of her own business, clear about what she wants to do with her life, who she wants to be with and here I was: an 18-year-old blogger who has dreams of writing books but with no clear idea of how to make it all happen.

Oh well, better her than me, I suppose.  At least I don’t say ‘loo’.


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