Sometimes a boy just likes to feel pretty. That’s why two of my granddaughters recently gave me a beauty treatment at their very own spa and salon.

And I can count on the fingers of two hands how much it cost to be the envy of everyone at an evening gathering where my bright red nails made me the life of the party.

My day of geezer pulchritude began when the girls, cousins 9 and 6 years old, asked if they could paint my nails.

I knew they would do an excellent job because they had just painted their own nails, which made them feel good and look good. In fact, the name of their establishment is Feel Good, Look Good Spa and Salon.

It was founded at my house by the 9-year-old and her sister, 12. But we were at the 6-year-old’s house, where the cousins had set up shop.

“We’re going to make you beautiful, Poppie,” the younger one promised.

Hoping the girls could accomplish the impossible, I eagerly agreed.

“You have to pick a color,” the older one said.

My choices: red, pink and rainbow sparkles.

The younger girl had rainbow sparkles on her nails, so I chose that one.

“It wouldn’t look good on you,” she said.

“How about pink?” I wondered.

“Not that one, either,” said the older one, whose nails were shiny pink. “Red is your color.”

“Will it match my eyes?” I asked.

The girls rolled their eyes and got down to work.

The older one, who is right-handed, painted the nails on my right hand. The younger one, who is left-handed, painted the nails on my left hand.

Aside from a couple of smudges — one on my right thumb, the other on my left ring finger — I was, indeed, beautiful. Or at least my nails were.

Then came this announcement by the 9-year-old: “You owe us money.”

I was flabbergasted.

“A legitimate business announces a price before a service is rendered,” I said. “Besides, don’t I get a family discount?”

“No,” said the 9-year-old, a born entrepreneur.

The 6-year-old said I should pay five cents a nail. Her older brother, who is 8, said 25 cents. His younger brother, the 6-year-old’s twin, just laughed. So did my 12-year-old granddaughter.

The 9-year-old set the rate at a dollar a nail. That meant I owed the girls $10.

My younger daughter, the older girl’s mother, helpfully pointed out that I should also pay a 20% tip.

Total cost: $12.

“Would you take a credit card?” I asked.

“No!” the younger girl responded. “We’re 6 and 9. We don’t have a bank account.”

I didn’t have a pair of fives, one for each girl, so I asked my 8-year-old grandson, who has a piggy bank, if he could break a 10.

“I’m not giving you money,” he stated flatly. When I explained, he said, “Now I get it.”

He opened the bank, which has a combination lock, and peeled off 10 ones. I gave him the sawbuck. Then I paid the girls.

“Ten bucks is a good price for a manicure,” said the boy’s mother, who’s also my older daughter.

“Plus tip,” added my younger daughter.

That night at the party, which was attended by adults and kids, I got raves for my red nails.

“You’re very stylish,” said one woman. “I wish my nails looked that good.”

Another woman said, “My daughter painted my nails blue, but they didn’t come out too well. Yours are better.”

Even the guys were impressed.

“I don’t know if I would do that,” one of them said.

Just then, my granddaughters came by and, in unison, chirped, “Nice nails, Poppie!”

“Thanks,” I replied, holding them up for all to see. “Being beautiful is worth the price.”

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