If you want something done right...

I generally don't compare myself to people. I see no point.

In my book, everyone is a different flavor of fruit, and though at times those fruits look suspiciously similar, the fact remains that God made 8 gajillion different kinds of people. To compare would be fruitless...or fruity. Ha ha ha!

Anyway...

The trouble with not comparing yourself to people is that you think that they get what you get, know what you know, can do what you can do, and think like you think. Sadly, this is not the case, and many an argument has ignited due to people not seeing eye to eye.

I suppose this blog could divert down an inspiring course where I would tell you with tearful heart that knowing and accepting others for who they are and loving them and understanding our differences will make us better people, but I am not going to.

Instead, I am going to tell you a story.

Stories are fun.

So, with my myopic point of view, I wandered with my sisters over to the Paul Mitchell beauty school to get a manicure.

You see, I thought that surely these little students knew as much as I did about nail care, and probably more, so I went in there thinking that this was going to be the penultimate hand make-over experience.

I sat down.

The girl opposite me looked a little shell-shocked.

I figured it was because she was pregnant.

She then took my hand and said, "Wow, you have really nice nails."

That should have been my first clue. I giggled shyly, and waited with bated breath for something exciting to happen.

Apparently that is what she was doing, too.

At some point, she remembered that she was the manicurist. She pulled out a piece of paper that apparently indicated step-by-step instructions.

It went something like this:
1. The thing in front of you is, in fact, a hand.

2. The things on the end of the hand (see #1) are, in fact, fingers.

3. On the end of those things (see #2) are finger nails.

4. Pick up the long, sand papery flat stick, which we will call from this point on a nail file. Be careful to keep the end away from your eye. And remember, nothing you work with is edible.

5. Lightly file nails (see # 1, 2, and 3), and create jagged edges.

6. Apply clumpy nail polish to said jagged nails.

7. Add another layer .3 seconds later, and smear nail polish everywhere.

8. Repeat 1-7.

While all this was going on, I asked my timid manicurist how long she had been doing this.

"A year and a half," she managed to squeak out.

I observed Emily, Becky, and Jenny. They all had giant grins on their faces, were eating chocolate truffles and square dancing with their manicurists. What the...?!

She then hit each of my nails with a hammer encrusted with broken glass, kicked me in the shin, and tripped me as I tried to run out of the room.

(Don't get the wrong idea. The girl was really nice. She probably wasn't as lucky as I was growing up. Emily and I would paint our nails all the time, so I got a lot of experience. And, logically speaking, if you don't know how to do something, you go to a school and learn it, right? So, she was in the right place.)

As we walked out, I grumbled,

"I feel violated..."

Becky laughed as she gobbled down another truffle, exchanged phone numbers with her manicurist ("BFF!" she exclaimed), and square danced to the car.

Jenny apparently had been faking her joy in fear of retribution, and commiserated with me as we compared nail jobs.

Emily's nails glittered in all their perfectly manicured glory. We all kicked her on the shins and tripped her as she got into the car.

I am tempted to compare my nail painting skills with this young girl. But chances are if I did, I would find out that she is an astrophysicist and then the comparison between us would leave me with nothing to stand on.

But...Oh, alright...I have mad nail painting skills! Booo yaa!