I know, we’ve talked about this before.

I’m hot.

Not sexy hot.

Just HOT.

Today, I went to get my nails done.   I picked the color by the number listed on the little nail polish chart.

Number one, a pretty red.

Very holiday-ish

or the color of hell

whichever

because the salon was as hot as what I imagine hell to be.

I was sitting there with sweat dripping in my eyes ( see?  Not sexy hot at all) thinking how I wish they would turn down the freaking thermostat.

Of course, the technicians are young and skinny.  All of them were prancing around wearing cute little winter scarves around their necks.

Poor little things must have been freezing.

( Let me mention that although hot can equal homicidal the thought of choking them with those scarves never really entered my mind.  No, really, it didn’t. )

When the technician got up to get something I turned the bottle over to see what the name of the polish was.

See?  Even the nail polish knows!

Winter or no winter, for my next nail appointment, I’m wearing summer clothes and this hat ( which I am officially putting on my damn Christmas list):

Being blinded by sweat tends to strip away any remaining pride. Nothing says “BUT NOT SEXY HOT” like a fan hat does.

As I sat there blinking out sweat tears, I considered opening a nail salon that caters to all the hot women.

I’ll call it North Pole Nails.

North Pole Nails,  Where it is always cool and the chairs are blocks of ice.

Ahhhh.

I feel cooler just thinking about it.

Maybe I won’t need that ugly hat after all.