A Failed Experiment in Femininity

I did a very uncharacteristic thing yesterday. Well, I suppose it started two days ago, really. I was sitting in class daydreaming about the-booskie-and-I's upcoming trip to Broadway, trying to put an outfit together in my head, and I got the random desire to paint my nails for the trip. Then, instead of stepping back and asking myself wtf was happening to me, like I did when I thought a frilly floral nightgown was cute, I actually went to CVS and bought not only nail polish, but clippers and a file too. Then I sat down for over half an hour yesterday morning and painted my nails, trying very hard to get them just right, and feeling more and more frustrated the longer I spent attempting perfection. Eventually I had to leave for class, so I blew on my nails like I've seen my sister do and headed out the door. 
My fingers looked...foreign as I typed notes in class. I couldn't decide whether it was good or bad, it was just very very different. I kept inspecting my hands, as if trying to make sure they were still mine, during lunch, and K noticed and asked me what I was doing. I told him I'd painted my nails, and J commented about how I was trying to impress my man, or something to that effect. K grabbed my hand to inspect my nails, and chuckled at my apparent inability to do this simple feminine task. Even J said we were going to have to work on my nail painting skills. K said they were "uneven", and scoffed when I tried to describe how difficult it was. Dab and make a line. Repeat. It sounded so simple when he said it.
So I went back to my room and took it off (well, most of it. Some got stuck in like, the crevices of my fingernails and wouldn't come out no matter how much nail polish remover I used...) and began to try again. Dab and make a line. Repeat. But how to deal with the giant glob that comes out on the first dab? Remove. Try shaking excess off before making the first line. Now it looks streaky. Remove. *Gives up*
This painting my nails business just seemed like a crazy new trying-to-be-a-girl endeavor that I shouldn't have been embarking on. I kind of liked the way it looked, while simultaneously recognizing that painted nails did not seem like Maya in any way. I don't understand where these new stereotypically feminine desires are springing from; does simply having a boyfriend inspire some inherent need to be overwhelmingly girly? I'm practicing emphasized femininity, to use a fancy term I learned in class. He obviously didn't initially like me for my particularly feminine ways...this is coming from inside me somewhere, and I don't know how I feel about it.