Getting nailed

No, not in that way, you sickos. I'm literally talking about my nails. And my sweet little manicurist, Anthony.

Anth is a 19-year-old student who works at his mother's Rocky River nail salon during his off school times (along with some of his other siblings) and he has been "my" nail guy for the past two or so years.

After jazzerci... I mean... cardio class tonite, I checked my phone and had a text from Anth (yes, we have each other's numbers... you never know when you might need an emergency nail appointment!). He just wanted to check in to say hi (actually, he said, "Hey, what's up darling?") because I didn't make it in last Saturday.

(Yes, I get a manicure every week. It is my little $20 splurge. I don't go out to fancy dinners that much anymore (no one to go with!) and I don't buy $300 jeans, so I figure a weekly manicure is legit.)

Anyhow, the reason for the post is this: I realized tonite that Anthony has been the most steady male relationship I have had in my life for the past couple of years (not counting blogdad or my bros-in-law, of course).

I'm not sure if that's sad or sweet.

What I do know is that I need to wrap up this post so I can go wrap up Anthony's Christmas present. (Is that weird?) I just hope I can still master the scissors with these talons at the tips of my fingers right now.