Bouncing Breasts and Colored Polish

“Why you no choose a color? How about red?” she barked at me while holding my nude color nail polish in one hand and a deep red in the other. The massage chair vibrated under my legs while my feet soaked in hot water. I’ve never quite thought the chairs were particularly comfortable as far as massaging goes. It feels more like a cheap coin-up vibrating hotel bed with added metal nubs rotating on your spine. I turned it off.

“She like natural.” said her co-worker; a little Vietnamese woman sitting beside us, working on someone else’s pedicure. I don’t know her name, but she’s usually the one I see. She never questioned my choice of “color” or pressured me to paint my nails red, pink or “french.” I liked her better than Miss Pushy they stuck me with.

I put my headphones in to drown out the noise of the busy nail parlor. Between Miss Pushy yapping away at her co-workers and the three television screens all showing talk shows, I needed a respite…and to quite possibly find a new nail “spa.”

I glanced at the woman next to me who was having french tips painted on her toes and fingers. She was very pretty though extremely made up. Her hair was freshly highlighted blonde, her slim legs were nice and tanned.  She had a three carat diamond on her hand and sat her Prada handbag on her lap.  I caught the last bit of her phone conversation to a friend about a vacation home she was purchasing in Arizona.  I’ve wondered if the material maintenance kind isn’t easier on men then the cerebral maintenance kind like me.

Cake played in my ears…

“she doesn’t care
whether or not he’s an island.
she doesn’t care,
just as long as his ship’s coming in.
she doesn’t care
whether or not he’s an island.
if they laugh, they make money.
he’s got a gold watch.
she’s got a silk dress
and healthy breasts
that bounce on his italian leather sofa.

she doesn’t care
whether or not he’s a good man.
she doesn’t care,
just as long as she still has her friends.
she doesn’t care
whether or not he’s an island.
if they laugh, they make money.
he’s got a gold watch.
she’s got a silk dress
and healthy breasts
that bounce on his italian leather sofa.”

Between the woman sitting next to me (with perky breasts mind you), Cake’s “Italian Leather Sofa” song, and the talk shows (one reviewing anti aging creams) I was reminded of a fellow co-worker I had a few years back.

It wasn’t the first time I met Donna. I had worked with her once before but hadn’t seen her in quite a while. The company was so large that often you’d go months or even years without running into someone. I have a not-so-good memory, but some moments just stick with you – like this one.

As I walked up to reintroduce myself to Donna I noticed that she looked different – much more “made up” than the last time we’d met. We both had skirts and heels on, but while my skirt was conservative, yet fitting, and my heels were high, but still manageable, her skirt was quite short (risky for business attire) and her heels were more like stilettos. Her nails were painted deep red and although her makeup wasn’t over the top, it wasn’t quite natural either.

With the heels she must’ve been at least six feet tall and when she walked away, men all around turned their heads to watch her. Hell, I even had to stare. She was a bombshell with a great figure and walk. And she knew it.

We walked to Starbucks for a coffee  – she stopped to fix her shoe twice and the third time,  knowing she didn’t really need to “fix” them (but was in pain and needed to rest) I waved her apology away and told her that I didn’t blame her for needing a break, that I couldn’t walk far in those shoes at all and was honestly impressed by her.

“Well, I’m single now, so the shoes are staying. I need to find a man” was all she said.

My mouth gaped open and I’m sure I looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment. What shocked me about her statement wasn’t the content, it was the matter of fact way she said it. No fluff, no pretense and certainly no mixing of words. She was a woman on a mission: to find a man. I suddenly wanted to follow her around and take notes for like, a decade or so. It wasn’t as if I wanted to be her understudy – I’m much to nerdy. It was just that even though I’m feminine, Donna was, like the woman beside me and the woman in Cake’s song, my opposite – and I wanted to know more of my opposite.  I was intrigued.

That day I learned that Donna and her boyfriend, whom she was sure would marry her, had broken up recently and she didn’t like the idea of being alone. She dated professional football players, older men, younger men and so on, all in a search for stability and comfort. She was nice and I liked her many man stories. We only worked together for a day and then we both disappeared into the nameless faces of our cooperation. I heard recently that she had left the company and married an investment banker or something of the sort and is expecting a baby.

Was it the skirt, the stilettos, the healthy breasts, the determination to “find a man” or was it her color choice in nail polish?

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One thought on “Bouncing Breasts and Colored Polish

  1. Swami Tommy April 5, 2014 / 11:26 am

    Very nice story I enjoyed reading it.

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