The Insanity of Vanity

Last week one of the girls asked me to be a hand model for an exam she was taking in her beauty course. Several of our girls are attending a local tech school, learning skills and trades that will help them find employment in the future. It's fabulous and I am very grateful for the lady who helps to fund this venture.

Rosario, the young lady who needed to "borrow" my fingers and nails, frequently polishes my nails and I trusted her abilities.

Entering the class room late (an attempt to be more Bolivian), I positioned myself in the salon's chair. As I perused the room, I became aware that all the files and cuticle cutters were being passed around from person to person...without disinfecting them.

At this point, I remembered a 20/20 type program which investigated several manicure/pedicure salons where sanitation was not a priority. More then pretty nails, women were leaving with serious blood infections, one of which created huge, gaping sores in the legs. My dad turned to my mom and I and sternly said, "I better not hear of either of you going to one of those places!"

The visions dancing in my head were not pretty and I proceeded to pray with fervency in Jesus name that he would protect me from any ghastly diseases. Trusting my health into his hands, the girls asked me to soak my nails into two bowls of warm water. Not so bad except I had to suspend my arms in the air for such a long time that it felt more like a Billy Blanks work-out then a pampering manicure.

Fingers soaked, the fun part of polishing began. Sitting pretty in my reclining chair, a fiery sensation began to move up my back and down my pants. Jerking from the pain, Rosario reprimanded me for messing up her work on my nails. What else is a person to do when an army of small, red ants are milling up out of the seat crevices and dining on one's body? A perfect polish was the least of my concerns; being a smorgasboard for blood thirsty ants seemed the more pressing matter at hand.

Thankfully the ants did not ravage my skin too savagely and so far, there is no sign of infection coursing through my veins. Perhaps the apostle Peter's wife had a Bolivian manicure at one point and that's why he advised women that their beauty should not come from outward adorment, but from the inner self. The price of vanity is less dollars in Bolivia, but more pain then I ever bargained for.