This is officially the most shallow blog post of my life. If I weren’t being challenged to come up with 31 things I like about me and running perilously dry, this would not be happening.

Alas, it is happening.

I was probably pretty close to 40 when I got my nails done for the first time. I didn’t even think I would like it, but surprisingly I really did. And Steve loved them. I’ve been getting them done ever since.

I’ve always considered getting my nails done a special treat so I go way longer between fills than I’m supposed to. I have them done really short—mostly because it’s easier with me on the computer so much, but also because it helps them weather the long waits for a fill. Often by the time I get in there I have one or two just about to fall off (if they haven’t already).

One of my guilty pleasures is frequent quoting of Anjelah Johnson’s “Nail Salon” routine. Unfortunately I learned that my Vietnamese nail techs do not share my delight in the humor. I haven’t made the mistake of mentioning it again since that rather embarrassing discovery, but I do still fight the giggles when the techs talk back and forth to one another in their native tongue.

I’ve thought about going back to not having them done, but with my own nails being so brittle and thin it’s hard to do anything with my fingers without risking injury. If I ever need to stop, I will deal with it. But for now I will appreciate and enjoy this treat from my sweet husband.

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