Bump

Pick a color, she says. No advance plans to be here but with two hours to spare a hand and foot spruce up makes sense. There must be hundreds of choices on the wall where bottles store matte, glossy, and sparkly pigments. I select dark purple and dip my feet in a hot jet bath. A young girl at a nearby manicure station has a woman painting a flower on each of her tiny thumbs. My helper offers me a hot wax treatment that I decline (it makes my feet slippery) and so I transition from pedi to mani. Yes, please use the same color for my fingernails. "How much is a flower?" I ask. Five dollars each. I take two, one on each thumb like the girl now resting with her hands under an ultraviolet dryer. Women around me watch as the blossoms take shape on my grown-up digits. One woman moves for a closer look. "You got more than flowers, you got heart," she tells me. Heart for ten bucks equals a bargain. I bounce home, pour a glass of milk, and place two cupcakes (one chocolate, one pumpkin) on a plate. On the way to my cozy room a pant leg catches on the dog gate. The baked treats survive the tumble while my face slams into a door jamb. I return to the kitchen and my heart hands retrieve from the freezer an ice pack to help reduce the swelling that's sure to follow.