I Don't Like Manicures

Whoever made up that rule that in order to be considered classy your nails should always be done, well that person should go a fly a kite. The process of getting a manicure does not relax me in the slightest, in fact it is like a chore. However, when the time comes to get my cuticles tamed, I'll make an acception and go get one. I try to keep my distance from those clean prissy expensive places, to avoid women with 12 bamboo trees up their asses, who tell the Asian manicurists how stressed out they are about the construction in their pool. Nah, not my cup of tea, so I go nail shacks that smell like kung pao chicken instead, where toilet paper in their bathrooms is never readily available. While you're there, you're stuck having that fake conversation with some chick you don’t want to talk to. As if that's not horrid enough, you then get lectured by your mean manicurist as to why your cuticles are gross and she insists on giving you a body wax. During the lotion stage, you feel nauseous because she's massaging you in a very sensual way, after she just touched money. Lord save you if your manicurist is a male, then its just really awkward. The worst is yet to come. On your way to drying station, you walk with your hands in a walrus position while your manicurist carries your shit as if she's your own personal peasant. You're drying your nails and awkwardly staring at your fellow nail dryers and to avoid more awkwardness you do some fake fidgeting in your phone, but you're still careful not to smudge. It's time to leave, and of course, you smudge your nails. You ask your manicurist to fix it, and she gives you a look of death. For an hour after, you cannot use your hands like a normal person, and you end up smudging them, again. The only good part is grabbing a Jolly Rancher on your way out.