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Over the past few months my work and life has been manic. Living out of a suitcase, flying here there As of late, I have developed a tendency to appear as unapproachable as is humanly possible when I go to the nail salon for my routine grooming sessions. This is not because I’m antisocial and it’s certainly not any type of effort to discriminate against service workers. I try to avoid conversation while having my nails and eyebrows done because I know exactly what the aestheticians will say to me. “You’re very pretty. You have boyfriend?” I usually answer in the least informative manner possible as to rule out any opportunity for further interrogation about my personal life, yet they always proceed to ask more questions. “Are you married?” “You have any children?” “How old are you? Why you don’t have no babies?” Then they point to a photo, which is always conveniently placed right beside their state issued cosmetology license, that displays them standing beside their teenage children (who they never look old enough to have given birth to). “When I was your age, I had two children!” they proudly proclaim in a brusque and seemingly judgmental manner.*