“Great, Palmer. We’ll see you at 3 p.m. for your nail appointment,” said the cheerful voice on the other end of the line.

There it was-my date with acrylic destiny. Having a number of “special events” (i.e. weddings, graduations, birthday parties) planned, I felt the need to spruce myself up a bit. I had, after all, bought a not-too-cheap dress from J.Crew, was planning on making my 5’4″ frame about four inches taller with some wobbly-walking inducing heels, and had sprung for a lovely eye shadow that, although it looked brown to me, was deemed “crme de cocoa” by L’Oreal. Why not splurge for nails, too, considering all this other work had been done?

Well, here I am, one week into what I like to call my Nail Adventure. I must say they are fun and definitely pretty, although they pose a few problems. I can’t, for example, get lotion out from a tub and onto my face without getting more than half of it stuck under one or more nails. And, if I were still working at a coffeehouse, I certainly wouldn’t have to worry about ordering myself an espresso-I’d have enough grounds stuck under these darn things to make at least two double lattes.

While I don’t feel more confident or more at one with my femininity, I do know I feel more girly. For me, femininity is an amalgamation of being in touch with my feelings, belching like a lumberjack, watching any sporting event, and knowing that a good pair of shoes really can make a bad day better. But being girly? To me, that means not being able to open up a can of soda (don’t even think about Diet Coke unless it comes from a dispenser) or not having the confidence to go out with friends unless the outfit’s perfect. And I haven’t quite decided if my nails are simply girly or just another as-yet undiscovered aspect of my femininity. I do know, however, that I can’t hear myself think over the clickity-clack din my nails make on my keyboard.


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