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Prima Donna

Prima Donna

  • A Penthouse Letter by R.P., New Mexico

Early one Saturday afternoon, my wife and I went to an upscale nail salon near our home. We were welcomed inside by the nice lady at the front counter, who invited Katie to pick out a color of nail polish from the rack by the door.

The worker didn’t seem particularly surprised when Katie beckoned me over and asked my opinion on what shade to select. I pored over the selection, pulling out one little bottle after another and carefully inspecting their labels.

“This one,” I said, lifting one particular bottle of blue. I don’t think anyone in the salon, Katie included, noticed how my hand was trembling.

My wife took the bottle from me and turned to the receptionist.

“Can we buy this?” she asked.

The woman looked a little surprised and sweetly said,... Read more...

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