You Better Forget Looking Feminine

That’s right, you heard me. Forget makeup, hair, perfume, dignity, identity … ok, a tad of an exaggeration, but trust me, you’re stripped of any sense of girliness the second you’re handed your whites.

That includes manicures.

I’ve NEVER been a mani/pedi/spa girl. Ever. Trust me when I say that free time during my youth was dedicated to team sports and homework, both of which gave my hands my wear than care. That’s not to say that I’ve never had manicures and don’t enjoy them …

But now I crave them. Partly because I need them and partly because I can’t have them.

But after standing in a kitchen for hours on end, dipping your hands in and out of the bleach bucket to clean tables and stoves, your hands take a beating. If a doctor were to look at my hands, and just my hands, I guarantee I’d be classified as a senior citizen.

This problem was present before our class started sugar work. Now, it’s even worse. And by worse, I mean in addition to the drying, cracking, and lack of polish, there’s an addition of scars, burns, blisters, bubbles, and hand-rosasea.

Generally speaking I’m usually freezing, but with sugar, I think that myself and most of my class has entered early menopause. The heat of the sugar exceeds 300 degrees F and can literally burn the skin off your body. It’s extremely dangerous. Our first rule is, “Safety First,” and damn you better be careful.

I’m not the most coordinated of people, so this has been a HUGE feat (so far) for me.

We’ve done poured sugar, pulled sugar, and blown sugar (tomorrow) all of which manipulates simple ingredients (water and sugar) into cake stands, baskets, ribbons, molds, etc. When it dries and hardens the mixture is similar to glass, breaks like glass and cuts like glass.

Nothing about sugar is safe, especially your hands.

My hands are so sore and blistered I don’t even think I could get a manicure; unless it including dunking my hands in cold water and wrapping them in cashmere. Which could be nice …