I once worked with a gardener at the New York Botanical Garden. She rocks (you know who you are, Mobee). The woman is the best example of contradiction that I know of. Mobee is one of the most hardworking gardeners I have met, and she has the BEST kept nails I have ever seen a professional gardener have. She is in the dirt, 5 days a week, and makes a serious point to maintain a perfect French manicure.
As you can see from my hands, I am a disgrace to well-groomed woman-kind everywhere. Really, ask me if I care. Now while I am perpetually impressed by Mobee's refusal to succumb to dried-out hands, blunt-tipped nails, and dirt-embedded cuticles, I just cannot bring myself to don at least a pair of gloves. So, forget weekly manicures.
Uuugh. It's just too much eeeeeefffort! Don't get me wrong, I will spend unknown, anal minutes plucking yellow leaves off of my large Brassica crop. Well-groomed plants is another topic entirely. Mealy bugs inside the greenhouse? Believe me, every last petiole is flexed with examination, then promptly sprayed with a 1:1 solution alcohol and H2O.
A manicure lasts me hours, not days. I have to really plan it out if I want it. Friday afternoon appointment. Inevitable DISappointment by Monday mid-morning. Now you know just one, one of many, reasons why I am the DIRTY HORTICULTURIST.