manicure

If you have some spare time, take the metro in Bucharest and watch the women. Perfectly groomed: hair done up, impeccable makeup, the longest possible eyelashes, high definition lipstick, high heels. Aware of the fact that they are stunningly beautiful, but not making a fuss about it. I will not even mention the kinds of sizes they wear, suffice it to tell that I had a hard time finding a winter jacket in the autumn that fitted me. Sure enough, I chose a Men’s Size S to have the adventure end sooner rather than later. As I said to my American friend: I feel like part of my femininity is lost here, gender limbo is upon me, and I am half boy, half girl. Not that this bothers me more than usual… My host took me to a beauty salon today, and I had a French manicure. It took about half an hour, the person who did it was very kind with the foreigner. I was very curious about the process, and it did not hurt at all. I wonder if she noticed that I had never done a manicure. After it was done, and had dried, I looked at my hands. It felt like they belonged to someone else. They were true alien bodies. When I put on my jacket, I damaged the first nail, because it was not 100% dried. It will never last on me. Hence the picture of a perfect illusion. But is it not beautiful…