And so they set up shop.
I should have known when V skipped soaking my feet in water. “Give me your foot,” she said. I lifted my leg and put my right foot in her lap. She began to take the polish off.
The second sign should have been when she buffed my nails and started placing polish on it before wiping the dust from the nail beds (forget the washing your hands part), but I was out west and it was not my culture, so I was going with it.
Little bumps began to form. “It’s clumping,” I said.
V pulled my finger forward. M flashed her cell phone light on it; examined it. They sanded down the fingernail and started over. They did that to three or for nails.