As Tough as Painted Nails

Well….my mother and sister and I recently got together for a Mother’s Day Extravaganza. We had not been in the same room at the same time for at least 10 years. With this being my mother’s 70th birthday year, we decided to do this massive, girly fest slumber party. Originally, we were to have it at my house. But, the last year has been rough for all of us. I have a cancer scare, my sister has a career scare, and my mother has an aging scare. I thought we’d crawl into our pajamas, order a couple of pizzas and watch a few movies while gossiping….

Oh, no. That’s not what happened at all. My mother decided that if we were going to do this, we were going to do it right. So, she booked us a suite at a swanky hotel downtown where we could spend the evening having nibbles, facials….getting our nails done.

I’m not that sort of groomer. I don’t lather myself with lotion. I don’t do mud masks, I don’t exfoliate, I don’t concern myself with cuticles. But, I was having the best damned time hanging out with my mom and sis that I couldn’t resist! First, the facial.

I have to say I tried everything I could not to LAUGH, but was told not to. They put this slimy piece of cloth on my face. I have no idea what I looked like, but I could see my mother and my sister and they both looked like Leather Face. I kept giggling at the absurdity of it all. After 30 minutes I was allowed to pull that gooey material off my head and asked, “Can I wash my face now?”

There was an immediate plea, both of them leaping out of their chairs. “NO!!!! NO! You have to rub the serum into your skin, down your neck around your ears and let it absorb! You have to let the serum ABSORB INTO YOUR SKIN!!!”

I stood back, frightened a little.

“Okay….calm down. Everyone chill. I know ya’ll take this seriously,” as you would say to a member of a cult.

I complied and rubbed that gooey mess all over my flesh. (Fun fact. No one ever gave me the “all clear” that it was safe to wash my face. It was two days, my friends, before I finally said, “Screw this,” and finally splashed my face with water. I have to confess, my skin was surprisingly taught, though.)

Next up was getting our nails done. They were getting their toenails done. Apparently, it’s open toe season. You know, sandals, flip-flops, the like. My getting my toenails done seemed ridiculous. No one would see my painted digits because I always wear boots, or at least socks. I could walk around this house butt nekked in the summertime, but I still have a pair of socks on….and yes, sometimes my boots, too.

I was so pleased with the way everything was flowing. We were laughing, chatting, sharing, and all done as though it had NOT been ten years since we all three were together. The ambient mood suggested that we did this every weekend. Anyone strolling by would have thought that we normally did this on the weekend. We were so casual about it.

Having my toenails painted would have been absurd. So, I had my fingernails done. Bravely, proudly, for all the world to see. I had the normal questions that most newbies have. “How long will this last?”

“Maybe three weeks or so.”

“SAY WHAT???? THREE WEEKS????” I just assumed it would be gone in a couple of days!

My mom chimes in. “Son, if it bothers you we can always get some nail polish remover and be done with it. But, thank you for at least trying.”

I grimaced, I winced. Man, I have to walk around with this on for three weeks????

I stared at my nails and began to think about the whole trip, the whole weekend. This was the best time I’d had with two of the most important people in my life. No fear of cancer, no fear of career, no fear of aging. The three of us laughing and having fun.

So, it’s been about three weeks and my nail polish has been chipping. My nails are looking….yuck. Kara was over the other day and suggested we go up to Walgreens and get some remover and take it all off.

I looked at my nails, chipped and wrecked of a deep Navy blue and asked, “Once you take this off, should I stick with this color, or find a new one?”

She looked at me with a smiling curiosity.

Throughout the last few weeks, every time I looked at my nails I was reminded of a great weekend with my mom and my sister. We rarely get to see each other, but every time I looked at my nails I smiled with glee at the three of us looking silly while trying to look pretty….(excuse me! Prettier 🙂 )

“Yeah, I think I want to keep painting them. I dunno. It’s weird and beautiful at the same time. Every time I knit I see those painted nails. Every time I draw something, I see those painted nails. So, I guess it’s an interesting version of keeping a good memory around me all the time.” Yes, I am eccentric.

Much to my enjoyment, Kara suggests we make a night of it. “Oh! Next time Phillip is working until 4am, we’ll hang out, order pizza, do our nails, flip through Vogue, watch cooking shows and gossip about people we don’t like…..” (Huge smile on her face!)

“YES! Let’s!”

So, I guess my painted fingernails are an homage to the amazing women in my life. They take care of me, love me for being only me, and are always a phone call or a swag bag weekend in pajamas away.