This was exactly the Canadian nail experience that I was looking for. I woke up absolutely nerve-racked, devastatingly fearful that I may not be able to get a French manicure as fresh as the the very hands that would wear it. Thank the Canadian gods and furious politicians above that they have allowed this nail salon to stand as a monument to all Canadian hands across this great health care for free nation.
I have now received the French manicure. I hate how fresh I am. Sometimes it is deeply depressing, affecting to the point of me not being able to get out of bed for hours at a time, sometimes even minutes.
But today, on the eve of my three shows for JFL Toronto, I love the too too fresh style on the very appendages that separate us from the beasts. I believe in my heart that if Plato were alive and living in Toronto today, he would visit Perfait Nail Spa.