Stephanie Gayle

Recently I went to a salon/spa and had a manicure because I had a gift certificate and I thought it might be novel to have some polish on my fingernails. It's novel all right. I find myself staring at my fingers, saying, "Oh! Color!" I'm easily distracted that way. When I entered the spa I made a resolution not to destroy the manicure within two minutes of its completion. Perhaps my sly self figured that destroying it within 45 seconds didn't technically violate that rule, as I'd said two minutes.

So while the majority of nail polish is where it was applied, my right thumb is hella messed up. I don't understand how people keep their manicures perfect. Okay, that's a lie. Those people don't hop up out of their chairs as soon as the fan machine pings and run for the register. To which I say, "Is there anything more boring than waiting for paint to dry?" No. I'm not good at sitting and waiting, especially without benefit of reading material (whose pages I'd be forbidden to turn anyway).

I use my hands a lot. It's hard for me to not use them for more than 45 seconds. I kept looking at my watch while my nail polish was drying and saying things to myself such as, "One more minute. Jut sixty seconds. I don't care if the damn fan is done. This is hideous. Who thinks spas are relaxing? Waiting is not relaxing."

So after I manage to ruin another thumb or finger I'll probably just remove the polish (badly) and forget about manicures for another few years. And then we can run another time trial. 45 seconds? I can beat that no problem.