Have I told you lately that I love....

...my manicurist? Seriously, some major mojo for Margaret. I am not a girly-girl AT ALL, but when it comes to my natural (jagged, thin, brittle, peely, AWFUL) nails, I am a teensy bit vain. I've been going to Margaret for quite a while (since my previous girl, Kim, quit suddenly. How *could* she?!?!?) and she does a FANTASTIC job. Nails are always as thin as possible, perfectly shaped, never any snags or lifting at the bases, and overal perfection.

So why did I cheat on her? Well, the Friday before Christmas, I had to do some last-minute shopping (who, me?) at a mall I usually don't go to. (They have more stores than my usual mall, where Margararet and her chums are located.) Well, I was in a hurry and realized that I needed a fill VERY BADLY, and that if I didn't get one that evening, I'd be more than a week overdue by the time I could get up to Maragaret, and that simply wouldn't do over the holiday weekend. So, I cheated and went to the big-mall nail place. BIG MISTAKE! Sadly, I was in too big of a hurry to notice how awful they really were before I paid, but after a couple of days more and more flaws were evident. Lifting, snagging, lumpy, thick-in-places... :sigh:

How would I ever face Margaret again? Especially with these awful creations upon my fingertips? She'd *know* I cheated on her! What would be the best approach, blase "Yeah, I went somewhere else, what about it?" approach might damage the beautiful relationship we've fostered. (Oh, and she COULD hurt me with that Dremel! Not that she ever does, but Jeff sure did!) What about the "begging for forgiveness" approach? Sounds more like my style.

I contemplated bringing her a gift as repentence, but decided just to give her a good fat tip if she fixed me up good. I wandered in, asked for Margaret, and waited a couple of minutes while she finished up her last customer. She greeted me warmly, as usual, and began. She always starts with my right hand, and Jeff must have done a moderately-better job on that hand, because all I noticed was Marageret's eyebrows twitch a couple of times. When she got to my left hand, which was terrible, she started making comments under her surgical mask; half Vietnamese, half English, and I knew she was disgusted. Lots of clucks and sighs. I tried to get her mind off the fact that I'd cheated, and talk about her kids (she has two daughters in college, one at U of M Dentistry and one at MSU Vet school, and one son- a senior in High School) but she kept bringing the conversation back to Jeff-the-awful-sculptor. "How much did they charge you for these?" and "See, this is terrible!" and "Ugh, this airbrush job." I felt about two inches high until she alcohol-sprayed my gel sealer and I could get a close-up look at the difference.

Maragret, you are a master. I will never cheat on you again.


Behold- sleevage. I hope to have the final sleeve done and the sweater assembled soon!