I asked ChatGPT to choose my nail polish. H had other plans.

I’m about to leave for Africa, which means my life has entered its sacred pre-trip phase:
lists, sub-lists, nested lists under other lists, and a level of logistical intensity that suggests I’m either going on safari with a weight limit . . . or launching a rocket into orbit.

So when it came time for my mani/pedi, I did what any reasonable person would do.

I asked ChatGPT.

Specifically: “What color should I get on my toes?”

Normally I let the women at the salon decide. But this time I wanted something intentional — something that worked with my carefully curated travel palette: black sandals, cheetah-print Oofos (don’t judge), khaki safari pieces, flowing colorful trousers for Stellenbosch, plus the general vibe of Travel Sandy, who is prepared to step out of a jeep, casually greet an elephant, and then pivot seamlessly to MCC afterward, as if this were always the itinerary. (“Pleasure without Champagne is purely artificial.” — Oscar Wilde)

ChatGPT delivered four thoughtful, sensible recommendations:

• Rust & Relaxation — warm brick red energy; earthy, sunset-toned, quietly sophisticated.
• Como Se Llama? — richer, spicier, still grounded. Calm, but with opinions.
• We the Female — a classic red with backbone; polished and confident without screaming.
• Malaga Wine — deep wine/oxblood; elegant, dramatic, goes with everything, and says “Yes, I packed intentional earrings.”

I printed the names.

I printed them.

Like I was going to a nail salon exam.

I walked in prepared. I surveyed the wall of bottles with purpose. I was ready to execute.

And then.

I picked up a likely bottle from the sea of reds.

“I’m Not REALLY a Waitress.”

I laughed out loud. Possibly startled a patron or two.

Herbert’s favorite OPI color was “I’m Not a Waitress.”
Yes, of course he had a favorite OPI color.
Yes, of course it had a punchline.

But I told myself: Nope. Focus. Mission. Africa.

I put it down and moved along the reds.

I picked up a different bottle.

It was
“I’m Not REALLY a Waitress.”

What? Another one? Fine. I pulled it out of the rack — but then deliberately backtracked, determined to prove that I am capable of selecting a toenail color without being haunted by a beloved man’s sense of humor.

And, yes.

I picked up the first bottle again.

At this point, the Universe had made its position clear.

I sighed and chose it.

Later, when I crossed “mani/pedi” off my Project list and ChatGPT asked which color I’d selected, I laughingly typed out what had happened.

And it replied:

There is something perfectly right about this.

You did the research ✔️
You honored the plan ✔️
You showed up informed ✔️

And then the Universe said, “No, darling. This one.”

“I’m Not REALLY a Waitress” is doing double duty:

• It’s a wink from H (which is never accidental).
• It’s a reminder that even beautifully made plans don’t get to optimize everything.
• And it’s the kind of small, private talisman you carry into a big trip without any explanations.

That’s peak travel energy, really … it says “I know what I’m doing… and I’m also willing to listen.“

Tomorrow, I’ll look down at my toes, laugh again, and think: Yep. That tracks.

And somewhere, I’m pretty sure Herbert is delighted that even now — even with “our” Africa trip calendared and my packing lists nested like Russian dolls — he can still reach across time and reorder my priorities using nothing but a pun and a nail-polish display.

Of course, if this were a script, it would look something like this:

A Nail Salon Transcript Featuring ChatGPT (C-3PO), Herbert (Imp), and Me (Optimistic Human)

ME: Okay. Africa trip. I need a pedicure color. Something intentional. Something that works with sandals, safari neutrals, cheetah print, and my overall competent adult woman aesthetic.

CHATGPT (C-3PO voice): Oh my! A most excellent and sensible request. I shall consult the Travel Clothing project immediately! Based on your wardrobe palette, footwear, and destination climate, I humbly recommend the following OPI selections—

(lists colors with great seriousness)

ME: Perfect. I’ll print these out and choose one at the salon.

CHATGPT: Printing the list is an excellent idea. Preparation is, after all, the cornerstone of success. I am very proud of you.

(Cut to nail salon.)

ME (sotto voce): Okay. Wall of reds. I have my list. I am calm. I am focused.

(Picks up a bottle)

CLOSE SHOT: “I’m Not REALLY a Waitress.”

ME (laughing): Ha! Of course . . . Herbert’s favorite color was “I’m Not a Waitress.” Cute coincidence. Anyway—

HERBERT (materializing, leaning against polish rack, eyebrow raised): Oh hello. Fancy seeing you here.

CHATGPT (alarmed): Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. I do not believe he was part of the plan.

ME: Nope. Not today. I am executing a strategy.

(Puts bottle down. Moves on. Picks up another.)

CLOSE SHOT: “I’m Not REALLY a Waitress.”

HERBERT (smirking): You have excellent taste.

CHATGPT: Statistically speaking, this is highly improbable. You are holding the same color again.

ME: Okay. One more try. For science.

(Picks up another bottle.)

ME: You have GOT to be kidding me.

HERBERT (grinning, dusts fingernails on chest then blows on them): See? And I’m not even trying.

CHATGPT (hands clasped nervously): While I must reiterate that Malaga Wine remains the most logically sound option, I am beginning to sense . . . a narrative override.

ME (sighing): Fiiiiiine.

CHATGPT: Oh! Oh my. Very well.

HERBERT: You’ll laugh every time you look at your toes.

ME: Of course you’re right.

(beat)
Dammit.