in the face of this very great loss and the fact that for the first time ever in my life i will be living in chicago without them less than one mile down the road, i did what any reasonable, thoughtful person would do...
i put on fake fingernails.
because, as a coping mechanism, that makes absolute total sense.
after an emotional farewell, what better place to seek comfort than the idyllic artificiality of the cvs beauty aisle? what better way to vent one's grief than the medium of broadway's best fast french? and, really, what psychological state could be more conducive to manipulating small pieces of plastic and maneuvering a tiny vial of semi-permanent glue?
(warning: "bonds skin and eyes in seconds")
in the end, the lesson we learn here is that this is not a good idea.
fake fingernails are not the answer.
falafel, however, totally is.