My Nailist

My Nailist

After ten perfectly delightful years of hand-holding and foot caressing-my nail salon has closed. Its massage chairs, autoclaves and tiered displays of Esse lacquers with seductive names like Topless and Barefoot are gone. While other shops may be as inexpensive and quiet, (now that I’ve seen these attributes, it’s obvious why it closed), they don’t have my mother confessor-my champion-my podiatrist-without-portfolio-my nailist; Sheila. 
Sheila and I first held hands when she was hired a decade...

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