A fate worse than half picked nails

There are few things I find as tedious as having my nails done. I know it’s a real first world problem but right now I am on holiday and trying to immerse myself only in the problems of the first world type (although to be honest I find it hard to stop thinking about asylum seekers and Kenya, and innocent women murdered and the Nigerian girls who were kidnapped nearly a year ago today – but that’s just my brain).

Before I arrived on holiday I had my nails done and sat through it in much the way I sit through everything that I find excruciating – I counted. It’s much easier to get through the nail painting if I think it’s only ten times four (ten fingers, 1 base coat, 2 colour coats, 1 top coat). What I hadn’t taken into consideration is that I find going on holiday can be a little stressful at times what with saying goodbye to the dog and flying. So naturally by the time I arrived in beautiful Port Douglas my nails were hideously picked (reference this video for a reminder of that “gorgeous” habit I share with my friend Kerri).

Now if you have ever had Shellac on your nails you will be well aware that just picking at the stuff is not enough. You need a chain saw, 10 litres of nail polish remover and the patience of a saint. I have none of those. I made a determined effort though and scraped off just enough of the polish on three fingers so that my fingernails had the texture of sandpaper causing me to get the hideous feeling only associated with fingernails scratching on an old-fashioned blackboard every time my nails came into contact with anything that was not air.

I realised that I had no option – I had to get my nails redone or bear the feeling of blackboard nails for the entire holiday. Plus my husband and son told me in no uncertain terms that my hands looked terrible, I think they were echoing what I was saying.

Finding a nail bar in Port Douglas was not as easy as finding one at home where they sprout like multi-coloured mushrooms of footspas and shellac. But I found one and spent the entire morning steeling myself for three of my worst things

• Making conversation with the nail lady
• Avoiding conversation with the nail lady
• Sitting still

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I arrived at the salon. The lady who was to do my nails spoke fluent English although she was Italian. I was petrified she would speak to me for the entire thirty minutes and I would say silly things out loud while trying to count my time away.

Thankfully she was quiet as she proceeded to, and I am not sure how to say this kindly, destroy my nails.

I always thought putting Shellac on was quite easy if you had the gear and a steady hand – apparently there is some skill involved though and this lady didn’t have it. When she let me know she was finished my nails were an uneven colour and there were huge lumps of polish that she had built up as if she were sculpting little mountains on my nail beds. I thought maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me or that I was so busy counting to one billion that I had lost the ability to focus but when I went up to pay the woman behind the counter balked in horror at the sight of my hands.

She touched each one in turn her face getting both red with rage and white with horror at the same time. “I can’t charge you for this mess” she said “I’d be happy to take this off and do it again for you tomorrow”. She was very lovely about it even if she was visibly horrified at the sight of what could best be described as huge globules on my nails. The colours were slightly different on each nail and the tips looked like they had escaped the polish trauma altogether. My cuticles and nails beds are a whole different (yet equally tragic) story.

I looked at my newly hideous nails and contemplated sitting still for another half an hour tomorrow. The thought is worse than my nails. I am, however, thinking of buying gloves.

This was taken AFTER the manicure

and just for good measure here is another view

Lucky nail tips avoided getting painted. My cuticles however may never recover.

Do you get your nails done? How patient are you with the process?