Have found much joy in my new ultra-guilty, almost dirty little secret:

cheap gel manicures at what I will refer to very lovingly as the "Viet hole-in-wall near my house," VHIW for short.

And now I read (AT VHIW no less) that those nifty UV lamps may cause skin cancer? I know, duh, they're UV lamps, plus nothing that produces such a beautiful and durable shellac at such an unnaturally high speed could possibly be good for you. But phooey, because the one law that governs my existence seems to be, the moment I start enjoying anything, science (or my thirtysomething body) will prove that it's a silent killer.

Jillian Michaels workouts want to kill my knees. My cell phone wants to kill my brain cells. Caffeine wants to kill my reproductive system. High heels, soft contacts and now gel manicures want to kill me. Why can't I love filtered water from the tap, standing still, flat shoes, and glasses that make me look like Harry Potter's Asian spinster aunt? Those things don't want to kill anyone, although they do seriously judo-chop my desire to ever leave the house.

I read that slathering your hands and arms with a high-SPF sunscreen prior to sticking your fingers in the UV oven helps. But I'm sure abstaining from gel manicures helps more.

This first-world-problem rant has been brought to you by someone who at the moment has, inexplicably, too much time, and too much hard-to-remove gel nail polish, on her hands.

/whine