She was a sweet little lady and so very friendly. She gushed about how beautiful my hands were and how I should be a hand model. She held one of my, erm, magnificent hands in hers and closed her eyes for a moment. "New beginnings," she smiled.
Next thing I knew, she had produced a bag connected to a squeeze-bottle tip, something I associate with cake decorating, only hers held henna. She explained that the henna came from India and that it took her days to prepare the paste. In under a minute she had applied a gorgeous, intricate pattern to my, uhm, stunning hands.
I grinned, she beamed. My grin turn into a grimace, though, when she told me the price: $50. Yikers! That had been an old-school hustle, people. The exquisite design and praise for my, eh, bewitching hands didn't make that okay.
The photo above shows my well-formed hand with henna a few hours after application. The nice lady did some touch-ups and covered the whole thing with a honey-based brew, and I didn't wash that alluring hand until it was absolutely, positively nasty, because the longer the henna paste stays on, the longer the stain is supposed to last.
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