Nails

Here's a small secret of mine: I judge women inordinately on their nails.Yes, it's silly, but there you have it. I like a nicely turned finger-tip.

For the expert out there, I note four kinds of nails.

~ well maintained, clipped nails, often seen on ladies who work with their hands (eg: the veterinary technician I saw this morning. Mmmmmm.)

~ chewed-up nails, down to the quick, ratty edges, dry, unkempt.

~ falsy acrylics, stuck-on, often garishly decorated, or just MIA.

~ nicely manicured real nails, either natural or glossed.

My preference is, in order, 4, then 1. The other two aren't so hot for me.

What's this all about, this psychotic pickiness?

For a start, I find the nicely kept nail very sexy. That part you have surely guessed. Intuitively, I think it's a tell about how she tends to other parts of herself. If she's polished (literally!) in that department, her grooming elsewhere will reflect that standard.

Similarly, it shows she has the patience to maintain the natural nail. One thing I am aware of is how much time it takes to keep two handfuls of natural nails looking even and beautiful. Keyboards chew them up at a rate. There's a fastidious side to that I also like. Mindfulness is another word that springs to my mind.

Clearly, I'm taking the lady's nails and extrapolating - not necessarily fairly - their condition to the rest of her grooming AND her mindset. Yes, I understand just how crazy that sounds, and how inaccurate it might be. Still and all, that's the way it is.

Now, let's look at your palms, and I'll tell  your future. Mind if I check out your nails while I'm here?



Bottoms Up, Manicured Goddesses.

Man Hunter

Occasionally I take a little adult beverage at a local sports bar. With all those screens and the hard surfaces everywhere, an hour or so is about all I can stomach. But it's bright and shiny and happy, and there are a few guys I know with whom to share some male fellowship.

Last Monday saw me breasting the bar for a couple. After a long working weekend I felt the need for a happy hour snort. I'm such a lightweight thesedays, two is about my limit.

What caught my eye was the woman who arrived at the front door with me. She was a forty-something brunette, stylishly dressed in black skirt, knee-boots and what I believe were fishnets. Thinking nothing of it, I joined the lads at the bar to read my newspaper.

After a few minutes a couple of guys to my right noticed the dame. She was sitting at a table away from the bar. Apparently they had previously made her acquaintance, so she joined them. Their intercourse followed a familiar path. They bought her a glass of pinot grigio. They were overly felicitous, hanging on her every word. They both told her of their sad recent and pending divorces. It's the kind of conversation for which bars were invented.

One of the guys left, and the other started a move. It struck me at the time that he thought he thought of this first, but I'm convinced he was wrong. A woman alone at a sports bar at happy hour on a Monday isn't there for basketball. She's there for a different kind of sport; catch and release, maybe, or catch and keep, depending.

How smart though? If you're a woman looking for a man, go where the men are, where the hunting's reliably rich. She might have been a sweet southern belle, but that outfit was the social equivalent of dating camo.






Painting from here [link]

Check her out.

Do women understand the actions over which men have no control? I am thinking here in particular of one thing, although you might have experienced others.

No?

Here's the one I have in mind:

Walking down the street, if an attractive woman passes me going in the opposite direction, I must turn and look at her after we cross. It is physically and mentally Im-Possible for me to not do so. An irresistible force compels my muscles to slow, turn, and check her out from behind as she sails on down the sidewalk.

Pervy, perhaps. But it doesn't feel like that. I sense that the instinct resides deep in my autonomic programming, living happily beside the modules for breathing, heartbeat and blogging. No wonder I prefer cities to the country, and walking to cars.

How can I put this more clearly? I know. Passing a woman on a city street is like a gift, a beautifully packaged shortbread cookie that won't make you fat. It's a treat, a bouquet, a surprise, a puff of perfume with no downside.

A simple daily wonder.




Picture from here. [link]

Later edit: Photo REALLY from here. [link]

Smart women

Serendipity plays a bigger part in our lives than we might imagine. It has been a while coming, but serendipity brings me to this point: women are stronger than men. It's the truth, and I have yet to see it so beautifully put.

It's the flight syndrome, she continued. We've always been told that the male creature is so much stronger than the female. That it is men who seek conflict and struggle. Yet women are so much stronger. When it comes to clashes of emotion, to conflicts of the heart, men run like dogs. It's true. Just look around, at some men. Look at their eyes. A woman's eyes are naturally open and frank, emotive and fragile. Men live their lives a few inches behind their eyes, hiding behind them, keeping themselves out of any real danger. They look at the world as if through a mask.*

Right or wrong?

It's what I hinted at here.


*Quoted from The Third Translation, by Matt Durant. p 74, with thanks, this is a wonderful work of fiction.