This year one in five betches will be afflicted with Nail Regret. It’ll happen when they least expect it: before a wedding, on the way to a first date, after an especially good paycheck. They’ll look down at the manicure they just spent 12 whole wine bottle buying dollars on and think to themselves: “WTF I asked for peach not fucking PUMPKIN.” Tragic.
For those of you who aren’t aware, Nail Regret is the term used for when a betch
fucks up regrets her nail color after a manicure. Emotionally, this ranks right up there with trying to respond to a fuckboy’s text message and coming to terms with the fact that cookie dough will give you salmonella. It can be hard to accept that it’s not Sasha your nail technician’s fault and that actually pastels just aren’t in your color wheel. But the first step towards acceptance is admitting you’re in the wrong—LOL, psych. As if.
I would rather stab myself in the eye with a blunt fork then say “you’re right” to Sasha about not being able to pull off
orange PEACH. And because I’m assuming you, like me, would rather cause yourself bodily harm than admit you’re wrong, I’ve gone ahead and listed 5 stages in which to deal with your regret:
You know the moment it happens, usually around the time that Sasha is just finishing up the second coat of color and working on the top coat, and you’re just like fuuuuckkk. Suddenly the fun, chic color you were going to premier at your sister’s wedding to show her that you are 1000% okay with her getting married before you looks less fun and chic and more orange. Fuck.
Once the shock has worn off you’ll do the logical thing and start making deals with the powers that be. Like, are you there god? It’s me, Margaret and could you cut me some fucking slack please? It’s one thing to send me on a Tinder date with someone who lied about their height in their bio but leave my mani out of this, thanks.
Then comes the
rage blackouts anger. Tbh I can’t be held accountable for what I do when my nails look like shit. My first instinct when I’m feeling insecure is to ruin lives (or so my therapist says) and if the FIRE in the RBF I’m sending to Sasha isn’t enough of a warning not to test me rn then she cannot be helped. Just wait until you read my Yelp review, bitch.
Here is where you start saying crazy shit like, maybe you shouldn’t have made a scene with Sasha back there about how she sabotaged you with a fugly nail color. Also, maybe you shouldn’t have actually slept with the hobbit from that Tinder date. Wait, holy shit is this why you can’t have nice things?!
We all handle this stage differently. Some people would make a mental note of their mistake and work to correct it in the future. I am not friends with those people. I’d say the below image is a good representation of how I handle all my problems ranging from “my ex-boyfriend just sent me a ‘U up?’ text” to, say, trying out the color orange for the first time as a gel manicure:
^^ Actual footage of me handling my problems.
It can be hard to admit you’re wrong so I’d recommend that you don’t. Instead spend the next two weeks internally screaming at yourself until eventually
the nail polish starts to chip your anger starts to fade. Healthy, right?
So there you have it. Do these stages resemble the 5 stages of grief as determined by the Kübler-Ross model? Yes. But does regretting your nail color slightly resemble the loss of a
family member close friend girl you met in line for the bathroom? It’s really a close call.