Rising relatively early for a Saturday in Boston – we typically sleep in a bit, being weekday working girls and all – our manicures were scheduled for the first slot – at 9 AM sharp. The nail salon was just a few blocks from Braddock Park, and we made the quick walk as the heat and humidity began their steep climb for the day. I’d originally imagined a new set of brilliant nails in blue or turquoise, then decided. clear coat would probably be the best choice for my first time. Kira wanted a dark shade of ruby to match her velvet dress.
For all my talk and supposed tendency for fanciness, a manicure has always felt like a silly and unnecessary indulgence, particularly for someone who would just go home and put his hands in the dirt to fix the not-quite-proper placement of a Siberian iris in the garden. But this was the weekend before my birthday, and I went along with the bit of pampering to satisfy my own curiosity about the whole manicure thing. Would I love it or hate it? Would it be dull and boring? Would it disappoint? Would it thrill? As we sat down in the waiting area, Kira was called over to select the color she wanted. Meanwhile, no one asked if I wanted to select a color, so I assumed they would just me. clear coat since I was a guy. (Newsflash: the world is still sexist and hung up on ancient gender ideas.) That didn’t bother me much – for the first time, I sort of wanted to see what it was like without a coat of polish, even clear, and so I sat down at the manicurist’s station, right kitty-corner to Kira, who immediately began conversing with me.
“Are you going to stop talking?” I asked not quite quietly enough. “I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing experience?” The manicurists started laughing as I tried to re-inhabit the calm of the moment. There was filing and dripping and scraping and soaking and more dripping of different bottle droppers, and finally an extended hand massage that was lovely, if a little awkward for the length. If the manicurist had only gone with a clear coat we’d have been able to more actively occupy the time but what do I know? I was done in about fifteen minutes, well before Kira, so I returned to the waiting area and examined my nails.
They were immaculate. Even without polish, they shined, gleaming in the light, and perfectly defined, free from dead skin and encroaching cuticles. It was life-altering, and I was hooked. It informed the rest of our morning, and I finally understood the love of a manicure. Kira finished up and showed off her set of nails, both of us ready for the day’s festivities.
It was beautiful out, and we made our way downtown for some shopping and an early lunch of banh mi so as not to spoil our dinner plans. Like most of our jaunts, our day was spent in enjoying all the in-between moments, the brief pauses of cool respite in hotel lobbies, where we’d stop to step out of the heat and collect ourselves.
The fountain in front of the State House looked especially cool and inviting, but we refrained from taking a dip, opting to return to the condo. Boston was heating up, and we hadn’t even started getting ready for the evening at Encore.
A hot summer day spent walking in Boston demands an afternoon siesta, and mine was spent mostly in meditation. Then it was time to get dressed for our dinner and gambling night. These were the moments that could so often be more fun and exciting than the actual destination…
