I don’t understand ‘girl things’

Ok, that’s not exactly true. I understand lipstick and wanting to look pretty. Oh, and I’ve been told I can color coordinate. Otherwise I’m pretty clueless. Applying eyeliner? Fail. Walking down stairs in heels? I have enough trouble barefoot on a perfectly flat surface. Flirting? I have achieved the same social skill level as my bedpost.

This came to my attention over the holidays when I went to my college friend Rochelle’s formal wedding event for New Year’s. I am a dedicated friend, and I pulled most of the stops on this one, and encountered a whole range of objects and products as a result. Not to say that I wasn’t familiar with most of them in theory already, but many of them I had not actually tried for myself. So now I have a few more experiences to go into my ‘never ever ever’ list, and some others I’m still mulling over in my mind.

First on the ‘no’ list is the eyelash curler. Not only do I not understand the point of this device, it looks like giant dentisry equipment or other modern implements of torture. No doubt I should really give this thing the benefit of the doubt, since I didn’t even try it myself for the wedding, but it will take quite a bit more for me to overcome my latent fears. Also, I just don’t get it. Does curling eyelashes really make them look fuller? Why do we want full lashes anyway? Fact: Men have longer lashes than women. Fact: Pigs also have very full, long lashes.

Mascara is something I’m familiar with, and do use occasionally for big events, even though I’m bad at it. Usually I come out clumpy. I guess it could be worse. In combination with my messy eyeliner tactics, I could’ve looked like I had two black eyes. I don’t do well with soft gooshy pencil. I need something with the finest point available to counteract my unsteady hand. And with a finer point, it hurts less why you poke yourself in the eye cause it’s smaller. Really. In the end I came up with a less-is-more look when I reached the point of maximum frustration and wiped as much as possible off of my face.

But that’s ok, experimentation is good. And the end result of my first manicure remains fascinating. True, I did get my hands done in a light shade of purple to match my dress, so they aren’t exactly an everyday color. Mike says they make me look like I lack oxygen in my bloodstream. Still, I kinda like it. And it was interesting to watch a small Asian woman trim my cuticles for several minutes. I would never have guessed I had that much skin – yum.

There’s also something about the polish itself that’s almost addictive. I usually knit on the bus, and I find myself this week occasionally pausing to examine the contrast of my skin, my silver-flash needles as they move, and my nails in their lavender splendor. I find myself rubbing my nails compulsively now. Ooooh, so silky and smooth! Is this some kind of weird addiction? Should I be worried about acrylic or other chemicals leaching through my fingers to my brain? I think I may be a convert, and am slightly worried about my future life as an administrative assistant with jumbo press-ons who can’t type. If I start writing one-word blogs, be worried.