I get my nails done. The lady who does my nails is very concerned about my injured hand. She is convinced that I need to use those Chinese balls that you are supposed to hold in one hand and rotate around and around. “Ask your therapist and then call me right away. I will get them for you!”
The week after her task assignment, she was baffled that I had not called her. And downright stunned when I told her I’d forgotten to ask the therapist if the balls would be beneficial. Clearly she was convinced that the Chinese balls held the key to my recovery. I promised to ask at my next visit and even set an alarm on my phone to remind myself.
Yesterday I asked. The therapist couldn’t help letting a telltale beat pass before she smiled and chirped, “It couldn’t hurt!”
“But could it help?” I pressed.
She pretended to think about some pros when actually she was formulating a gentle version of “those balls would be as helpful to your hand as one of those jiggler machines is to fat people.”
“Ummmm,” she stalled, “We’re trying to focus on strength [hence the weights, dumbass] and range of motion [hence the heat and stretching, double dumbass]. That’s why we are working with the weights and the heat and stretches [dumbass]. I’m not really sure how the balls would help those things.”
Ah yes. No indeed.
So, now I must figure out how to break the news to the omniscient manicurist. Sadly, she’s been wrong before. When I told her about an upcoming appointment with an orthopedic surgeon, she warned me that he would need to rebreak my hand (even though it had never been broken in the first place) and then stack it back together. She was pleasantly surprised when I told her later that this would not be necessary.
But she is so excited about the balls.
I know what you are thinking.
No.
No!
I don’t want to give her the green light and pay her back (who knows how much Chinese balls cost?!) and then smile and tell her how great they are working. My home needs zero more clutter and I’m broke (see injured hand: doctor bills).
Maybe I’ll just tell her the straight truth. No, I’ve been in LA too long to remember how to do that. But I haven’t been in LA long enough to solve the problem by cancelling my appointments avoiding her for the rest of my life. Plus she’s really good. I must think of my nails.
Do it for the nails! Yes. And so, I will bring with me the international tool of distraction: flowers.
Flowers indeed.
