Get me to a spa

"She looked at her hands and saw the desiccated skin hanging in Shar-Pei wrinkles, confetti-like freckles, and those dry, dry cuticles--even her "Fatale Crimson" nail colour had faded in the relentless sun to the colour of old sirloin--and she vowed if she ever got out of Kandahar alive, she'd never buy polish on sale at K-mart again."