I thought I was going to have a great Saturday when hubby announced that he was goin' fishin'. At the crack of dawn, with glee in my heart and sleep in my eyes, I happily drove him down to the beachy suburb where the 'boys' would be meeting and collecting their boat for the day.
On the way back, I was positively smacking my lips at the prospect of a husband-free day. No cleaning to do, since we'd recently outsourced that function. No homework to do or papers to complete, since my Masters degree was well and truly behind me. What to do with this new found freedom?
I headed to the mall, skim mocha and mindless celebrity mag in hand, and sought out a Nail Barn. A nail barn is an affectionate term I've given to these over-populated nail salons that appear in strip malls and shopping centres, where you can get a quick and dirty manicure for a steal. Under normal circumstances it would have been a relaxing albeit frugal endeavour, but on this occasion, the lady clipped my cuticles too short!!
Nail salon ladies, don't trim down to the flesh of the (bleeding) cuticle!! That is all.
