NAILS

In the nail salon on Friday, I join in the ritual.
I become a woman.
For an hour or more,
I allow my hands to be taken out of commission.
This is not a nice feeling.
I can't write or read
(although some more advanced women
have mastered this).
I can't fiddle with my computer.
I can't make phone calls.
I can't make myself a cup of coffee,
or fuss with papers,
or do any of the things
that normally occupy my mind and time.
Damn, I can't even scratch my nose.
In desperation,
I find myself engaging in conversation
with a fellow victim at the next table
about the relative merits
of gel versus glue manicures.
I hate this.
But all my life I have looked in awe at women
who could have ten long nails at the same time.
Who could polish them
and not have chips by the next day.
My hands seem to have been made for other things,
and I comforted myself with that.
I'd rather play the piano.
Or make pottery.
Or play tennis.
Even pry loose a staple with abandon.
But spread the news, sisters!
Today, through the miracle
of modern science and acrylics,
we can all have long beautiful nails!
I never thought I'd see the day when
I'd be one of those women on a Friday afternoon.
But then, I never thought I'd see the day
when someone would look at me and say,
"Nice nails!"


© Ellen Azorin