When I was a teenager my father gave my friend P. and I five dollars each to stop biting our nails. It worked for P. She reminded me of this when we saw each other this December. As for me, my father always asks for his money back. I told one of my teens this story and she had a great response: "What was the time limit on the stipulation? Did he actually say that it was forever?" Yes, it has been awhile since I could think like a teenager. I had never considered the idea that his request could have a time limit. And here I was slathered in guilt all of these years. This is how I will respond to my dear Papa the next time he asks, instead of my late 30 year-old turning into a 14 year-old whining response of "Whatever, Daaaad."
As you can see, the polish does little to hide the black and blue marks from my hike this weekend or my fingers and nails that have been bitten down to the hopeful essence of all of my mundane thoughts. I have yet to figure out the fine art of keeping the polish on the nail either.
This weekend, before hiking but after kayaking, I complimented a woman on her purple nail polish. The woman, of athletic build, thanked me and told me that it helped people realize that she wasn't "one of them. " "What do mean?" I had to ask. "Well, you know... a lesbian" she mumbled. "I know lots of lesbians who wear nail polish" grinning Margaret responded. A teachable moment. Will I ever stop?
And so I brushed on the polish this evening. I couldn't decide between "Creamy Opal" and "Bronze Beauty" on my toe nails. I now have one foot of each!!!