I’m Going to Get a Manicure, Damn It.

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Before manicure…

I’m going to get a manicure, damn it. I’m staring down at these hands that look exactly like my mother’s hands and that makes me sad because she is gone.

I’m going to get a manicure, damn it. The flashes of silver sparkly nail polish distract me while I’m in the thick of the mundane and the stressful. A welcome mental vacation.

I’m going to get a manicure, damn it. Ten bucks plus tip in the big scheme of things is okay. I won’t punish myself for the luxury of it.

I’m going to get a manicure, damn it. It feels so nice to just sit quietly with a pretty lady and occasionally lift our eyes to smile at each other.

I’m going to get a manicure, damn it. Because  I’m a Vegas showgirl deep down inside even though my hair needs a trim, my clothes are old, my body is soft, and my knees don’t lift me up off the floor as fast any more. Can’t we just do jigsaw puzzles at the kitchen table instead?

I’m going to get a manicure, damn it. My hands load the dishwasher too many times a day. My hands help my daughter get dressed for school. My hands spoon out the coffee for the next morning for my husband’s ungodly wakeup hour. My hands go to work every day even though they dream about going back to sleep.

I’m going to get a manicure, damn it. I will watch the sparkles fly on the keyboard late tonight as I write my next story that makes me feel alive. That connects me to people I’d otherwise never meet.

 

 

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