I might not be as hard as my fingernails, but my fingernails are hard.
And colorful.
Thanks to the talented cosmetologist at Lily & Chloé’s hairdresser.
Lily and Chloe are my granddaughters.
And the house they made me beautiful is the one I live in with my wife Sue. Sue is also beautiful, but she was about to go out when the girl she was visiting that day asked her if she could paint her nails.
Sue and our daughter, Lauren, a step mom to a little hairdresser went shopping. Lauren’s handsome husband, William, and the girl’s father were also out.
I was in charge.
And I decided to apply my nails for free.
Let me tell you it was worth every penny.
The spa opened in the kitchen. There, Lily, Chloe and you were sitting at the table with two pink and purple nail polishes. Sue got them in the bathroom on the second floor, which is one of the many places in the house where cosmetics are stored (not mine).
“Be for Poppy,” Sue told the girl before she and Lauren left. “And don’t confuse me.”
It was a disturbing warning.
As soon as the door closed, Chloe asked me to paint her nails purple to fit her dress.
“I’ll show you how,” said Chloe, an eight-year space art veteran. Then she started to draw the nails on her left hand.
Meanwhile, Lily was sitting at the table in front of a bottle of pink polish.
“Don’t do anything until Chloe and I are done,” I said.
“Alright, poppy,” Lily said. Lily is four and a half years old, but she already has a keen interest in cosmetology.
It contains diamonds. His poor parents.
Either way, Chloe painted her nails perfectly. She’s right handed, so I didn’t want to use my left hand to paint the nails on my right hand. So I became his right hand.
It might be a southpaw compliment, but I did a good job.
I knew that when Chloe said, “Thanks, Poppy.”
Suddenly Lily shouted, “I spilled my nail polish!
Sure enough, she has pink stuff all over her blue dancewear. For some reason, she wore it over regular clothes. She also wore a lot of costume jewelry, including the diamond ring she told me.
I grabbed some paper towels and tried to remove the polish. However, I refrained from using Windex.
When my efforts turned out to be hopeless, Lily sat down and said, “Now paint my nails, poppies. “
I did another good job.
“It’s your turn,” Lily said, announcing that she was going to paint my nails.
She dipped a paintbrush in a bottle of pink polish, or whatever, and smeared a drop on my right nail. I used paper towels, or the rest, to wipe off the excess polish from the thumb itself.
Lily then dipped the brush in a pot of purple polish and smeared her fingernails on the index finger of my right hand.
It changed color until I turned pinky pink.
“Now I’m going to do your left hand,” said Lily, who repeated the process except that it started in purple on my thumbnail and ended up the same color on my pinky finger.
“You are beautiful, poppy! Lily squirted.
“Thanks for your hard work, Lily! Chloe, who went upstairs to do a beauty treatment with Sue’s makeup, said.
When Sue and Lauren got home, they were surprised by my colored nails.
“What the hell!” Sue shouted.
“I can not believe!” Lauren rang.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you jealous of women?
I had a great day at the spa, except I didn’t notice Lily’s chair was covered in nail polish (not all came off).
“Next time, Poppy,” Lily promised. “Paint your toenails. “
Jerry Zezima is the author of the humorous column for the Tribune News Service and the author of five books. Email: [email protected]. Blog: jerryzezima.blogspot.com.
