I remember the first time I saw painted toenails an a man ... male ... guy ... I don't know what it was:
We were moving a building for two "people." It was an old granary, and they were going to remodel it into an art studio. The boss had warned us all they were a little "light in the loafers," but none of us thought about it. However, when we got into town and their backyard they came out of the house. Everything was fine until the driver climbed out of the cab and walked back to the rest of us that were directing him. He "couldn't concentrate any more."
What he could see from the truck cab that none of the rest of us could see in the tall grass were the toenails on the bare feet. I climbed in the cab, and as I was getting settled to line up with the new foundations "pinky" came walking over, and all I could do was put my head down on the wheel. Finally the old owner of the company went over and explained to the customer that "for safety reasons" he needed to give us more space and they both needed to have on "sturdy footwear."
To this day every painted toenail, male of female, and every same sex couple holding hands or groping brings back that mind picture that will never go away. It has been thirty years, and to this day I look at that "studio" every time I drive past it (almost weekly) and remember that episode in my life.