“What the hell is this?” he said, incredulous. Zinc, I whispered to myself.
Raymond hustled me out of the ward rather brusquely, I felt,
and before I’d even had a chance to mention that the squid salad would need to be eaten promptly.
The ambient temperature in the hospital ward was very warm.
The next day, whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, my eye was drawn to a leaflet which had been discarded on top of the office recycling bag,
alongside a pile of holiday brochures and well-thumbed gossip magazines.
It was for a department store in town—not one I had ever frequented—and set out an introductory offer,
featuring a frankly spectacular one-third reduction in the price of a “Deluxe Pamper Manicure.”
I tried and failed to imagine what a deluxe pamper manicure might involve.
How might one introduce luxury and pampering into the process of shaping and painting a nail?
It was, literally, beyond my imagining. I felt a thrill of excitement. There was only one way to find out.
With my animal grooming regime in mind, I would turn my attention to my talons.
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