"Zay Bye Bye Cuticlez!"

It was a first for me.

A gay man held my hand tonight.

After getting off work at a decent hour, I decided a trip to the mall was in order. My fall and winter wardrobe was looking really drab, so I figured some new pants for work and a couple of sweaters were totally deserved.

On the second floor, I struck out in New York and Company, Charlotte Russe and the Gap -- my three favorites -- but decided to head down to the new Macy's. As I traveled down the escalator, a gentleman manning a kiosk had a bottle of lotion in his hands. With two steps to go on the stairway, I decided to skip them and get to the landing quickly in order to avoid him. Those people at the kiosks are creepy.

Damn it. It was too late. He saw me coming, and I was blocked in.

"Doo zee vant to try zee lowzion?" he asked. I giggling at his thick accent, hoping to head on my way to Macy's for a pant-trying-on extravaganza.

As I smiled, shook my head no and waved my hand goodbye, he took my hand and looked at my nails. "Oh oh oh oh oh!," he gasped, his mouth hanging open. "Here! Zou must come!" he cried, pulling me over to his kiosk. With his other arm, he flamboyantly unveiled a station full of salon-type lotions and nail products. "Voila!" he exclaimed. I politely stood there, smiling and waiting for the sales pitch.

"You have zee natural nailz, no?" I politely shook my head yes, and he reached for a nail buffer on the counter. "Vell! Here! Vatch! Zee ridgez in nailz? Zey vill dizappear after zis!" He grabbed my hand, pulled it toward him, and buffed at my thumb. "Zis magic, no?"

"Oh, okay," I said uncomfortably. "That's great. Thanks." As I squirmed under the nail buffer, I couldn't help but think how many germy hands and nails he had already used this contraption on already today. I cringed and tried to wiggle my hand away.

"But vee are not done mizz!" he said, grabbing my hand tighter. "Vee have only juzt started!"

Oh that's super.

"Zee next step," he said, turning over the nail buffer, "iz to shine zee nail!," he stopped buffing. "Zoo have beauuuuutivul eyes, ma'am."

I smiled politely. This was really making me uncomfortable. Plus I'm not stupid. I'm in marketing. I know how this works. Butter up the poor naive girl, hoping she'll buy a damn nail buffer. Well forget it. I'm not biting.

"Time iz almost up, but firzt, it iz time for zee pop quiz!" he exclaimed with a creepy smile on his face. "How many timez vould you zay you do zee nailz? Ehhh, hardly never? Beahh, hardly never? Ceyyy, hardly never? Or deahh, hardly never?"

I glared at him. My nails are very well kept, thankyouverrrrymuch. I trim and file them weekly and even push back my cuticles on a regular basis. However, I never paint them because they always chip and, quite frankly, chipped polish just looks tacky.

"How about E, every once in a while." I said rudely. He laughed, thinking all of this was very humorous, and he reached for a bottle of oil. "How long do zee zink dee nail vill stay shiny like ziz?" he asked.

Before I even had time to answer, he had dropped this oil on my nail and rubbed it around. "Look how zee nail shinez!" he exclaimed. He really must be into this job. He is getting excited about a damn shiny nail for crying out loud.

The next thing you know, he grabs another bottle and squirts two drops onto my cuticles. "Zis oil vill make zee cuticlez dizappear!" he cried. "Zay bye bye cuticlez!"

He paused and looked at me, smiling widely.

I stared back.

"I zaid, 'Zay bye bye cuticles!" he repeated, looking down at my nail.

Oh, you are kidding me. "Zay bye bye cuticles!" he said again, waving at my nails, wanting me to do the same.

That was it. I was done being polite. This dude was weirding me out.

"Thank you sir. This was all very fascinating, but I have to run!" I pulled my hand out of his reach. He followed me protesting, but I beelined it for Macy's. As I got a ways down the isle, I turned around, and he had found another unsuspecting victim. Whew.

No one is going to tell me I don't have nice nails! I have perfectly fine looking nails!, I thought to myself as I tried on slacks in the dressing room of the department store.

But what did I do when I got home?

I trimmed and filed my nails. I even pushed back the cuticles.

If only I could remember where that nail buffer was.