The closest many will get to the feeling of having their fingers boiling water tortured. Unless you’ve gotten your fingers stuck in the garbage disposal while Glee suddenly aired on the radio.
BTW sorry Monkey King. Haven’t reblogged you yet because, bizarrely, I can relate to your blog. While this post I both understand and find a revelation. You’re up next. No! Don’t throw your shit at me! 😉
So, I’ve had fake nails now for about six months. The reason I got them is I had this hot job interview and I wanted to get that not-on-the-dole look. My nails are like flakes of peeled house paint at best, but whenever I attempt do my own nail polish it looks like a five-year-old kid with ADD did them in a high-speed car chase with a monkey at the wheel. Plus, they were so soft you only had to touch them and they’d faint off my fingers, like a gay man at Liza Minnelli’s farewell concert. So I thought, fuck it, I’m going to be one of those people with fake nails.
So I’d gone into a nail bar and had a Vietnamese woman work my nails away, filing at them like she was some kinda mad violinist from a Chekov play or something. Like this was the concerto…
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