Today, while spending the afternoon with a childhood friend who was in town doing research, I got a manicure.
This is only the third time in my life this has happened; the second time was in Beverly Hills, while everybody in Manhattan was dealing with the blackout. I cannot for the life of me remember the first time (a statement I wish I could make about any number of activities in which I habitually engage).
The problem with today’s manicure is that my friend and I were so wrapped up in discussing the porn scandal that rocked my high school last year that I accidentally told the manicurist to put clear nail polish on my nails.
Now I have nails with which I could land an airplane.
How do I fix this?