Nail Bars

I often pass nail bars in town and get surprised at how many men are sat in them waiting for their wives and girlfriends to have their treatments.
Now, it may be nice to have a “supportive” guy but I’m not quite sure what support he is giving here. It’s not a surgical procedure where he might be called upon to mop his partner’s brow or shout “push!”
What is his actual role here?
In short, unless he’s paying for the results, I have no idea why he just doesn’t go to the pub instead and down a few beers. He’ll never get this time back.
It’s not really a spectator sport.
You can’t chant and cheer as the nails go on and you can’t boo if you think they are rubbish.
And, at the end of the day, for a guy, it really doesn’t matter about a woman’s nails.
No guy has EVER sat at the end of the bar and shouted across “Hey, nice nails!”
Similarly, no guy has ever turned you down by saying: “Sorry, Love, can’t go out with you because your nails are a bit rubbish.” They really are not that important to us.
Hair – yes, Make up – yes, Clothes – yes and sometimes we pretend we like shoes but definitely not nails.
When you ask a guy: “Do you like my nails?” We says “yes,” whilst internally shrugging and saying to ourselves, “And you spent how much..? Seriously…? On nails…?”
And, despite what Hollywood films have you believe, no man enjoys having his back scratched to pieces in the throes of passion. It really bloomin’ hurts. You’d go mental if we did it to you.
Do it for yourselves just don’t expect us to come with you or care as much as you do about it because we genuinely don’t.
We don’t ask you to come to football with us. We wouldn’t put you through it.


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