Be My Guest

Be My Guest

Little nails deserve to be painted. Though little girls are squirmy and kinda gross, I love what I do.
The first birthday party I worked at was no different.

The small event space is crowded with little girls dying to meet princess Belle. They all pull at her dress, vying for her attention. I gulp, knowing I’d be in that costume the following weekend. My eyes are pulled in so many directions, but they linger on the little pink princess spa chairs that would become my assigned spot. My goal for today? Don’t get fired!

My task: painting tiny toes with pastel nail polish and glitter. Many girls with different princess sunglasses had cycled through my assigned spa chairs, but my final client stands out. She is the youngest of all the girls at the Belle themed party, likely someone’s little sister invited to be polite. She plunks herself down in my pink princess chair, her brown curls flying wildly. She rolls up her little green leggings and I notice a matching forest green top. This little girl is better dressed than I am.

“Would you like your nails painted?”
There’s a silence between us. She stares at me, sticking her feet out. I’m taking that as a yes.

I fill the little hot pink tub with warm water. I add the special cotton candy bubble formula and my hands instinctively froth the bubbles. I relish the sweet cotton candy scent, imagining that this is what a unicorn must smell like. I remove my hands from the water and shake them dry, wiping the excess onto my jeans. When her small feet are done soaking, I wrap them in my little towel. The rough towel remains stiff in my hands. It appears softer than it is, but it serves its purpose, letting none of the water drip onto the pink carpet below us.

“This blue nail polish you picked reminds me of the Little Mermaid. Is she your favorite princess?”

I get another stare. Tough crowd.

Her tiny, delicate nails make my hands shake, I’m scared I’ll drip the nail polish all over her feet. She squirms in her seat as we play a sort of delicate tango of me trying not to make a mess and her being an antsy little girl. I attempt to make small talk, knowing my boss’ eyes are on me.

“Do you have any pets? . . . What’s your favorite song? . . . Do you like Taylor Swift? . . . Have you ever been to Disney World?”

She won’t even look at me. I pray in my head, hoping I don’t get fired over one steely little girl. Every other girl has been a chatterbox, telling me about all their weekend plans and why the Beast is the best prince. This one. . . not so much.

“I’m done! How do you like them?”

We make eye contact before she looks down at her toes. She gives me a little squeal and a giggle. Her big brown eyes look up at me again, filled with joy. We exchange a thousand words in that one second.