The state of my fingernails, approximately ten minutes post-manicure. Dismal
I had a break in my work schedule Friday, so I stopped by a nearby nail salon and got my “it is basically June and the weather is warming and it is definitely sandal weather and hurray! I have new sandals that seem like they fit and do not hurt my feet” pedicure. Got a manicure too, since it had probably been a year since my last one and my fingernails always benefit from professional care. I was wearing my new black sandals, the second pair that I ordered this year; I had to return the first ones because my right foot is spreading in a strange way and they didn’t fit right. It’s not a bunion, but something weird with the bone near my pinkie toe. Suddenly, shoe fitting is a treacherous process. Because shoes are expensive now! And what if they don’t stretch and my poor bony foot gets blisters and hurts all day long in my cute but uncomfortable and expensive shoes?
So I proudly sported new sandals that did not hurt my feet and picked out my polish colors. I knew what color I wanted for my toes and for my fingernails, too. The magic number for my fingernails? 144. All the polish colors at this salon have numbers attached to them. I do not know if this is a universal nail salon practice or if it would just be the number for this shop. But the fact that I do not know means that I will probably never go anywhere else, because of my affection for polish 144. I had even saved this information in a reminder document on my phone. A technician had used it before on my hands and I loved it. It was perfect, just a light pink that didn’t command too much attention.
This time, my nail technician frowned a little when I showed her my choice. “Mmmmm,” she said.
But she started with my toes and thankfully did not make any snide remarks about the condition of my feet. Then we moved to the manicure area. This is when everything fell apart. She had Polish 144 on the table next to me, but she ignored it and showed me two other colors: one a brighter pink the she evidently liked better. “Or maybe even this one?” she said, pointing to a third bottle, which looked completely clear. Polish 144 sat there unopened, staring back at me; it looked sad.
I knew what I wanted. I wanted 144. But in the end, I went along with her suggestion and said OK to the brighter pink. Apparently, the minimal amount of disapproval that I was sensing from the technician was too much for me. And guess what? It looked OK as she applied it, but it went on thick and started to peel off as soon as I got in the car. It was a manicure fail.
I knew what I wanted, but I let myself get talked out of it. Unfortunately, this is something that is not uncommon for me: going along with what someone else wants, sometimes without even sharing my desires or preferences first. Of course, I don’t mind compromising. I don’t need to be the big boss all the time. But here, in this situation? It would have been easy to be strong and speak my mind. Because what I wanted was really what mattered. How hard would it have been to say, “Oh, thanks so much for your suggestion! But I really like 144.”
Lesson learned. I hope. To trust myself. To trust myself and what I know and to speak my truth, even at the risk of someone else’s disapproval. And next time? No matter what? I’m going with Polish 144.
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