NAILING IT

After Sweet Neighbor Girl finished up with my hair yesterday, she came up with another fab idea:  "Let's do your nails!"

Now, in my glam days I used to have long, well-manicured fingernails that I kept polished, but that's been a few decades ago--more than a few decades, actually.  Nowadays I could care less, as long as they are kept short.  I've never gotten used to wearing gardening gloves, so my fingernails tend to be grimy and uneven--just the way I want them. But for SNG, I would put on my game face and humor her.

We went to the bathroom medicine chest, where I pointed out the three bottles of nail polish still in my possession--clear, silvery pink, and honeymoon red, the latter being something akin to French whorehouse red, to give you a better picture of what it looks like. I selected the clear, knowing full well what the reaction would be.

"Oooooh," SNG whined.  "That's boring!"  (This from a kid who boasts well over 50 bottles of colored nail polish that come in a special, heavy-duty carrier.)

Of course, she grabbed for the garish red. I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. I dared not watch what she was doing to my fingers, as she kept saying, "Ooops!" and wiping away her mistakes with all the skill of a mad manicurist. She gave it a clear topcoat, took the blow dryer to her creation, and voila!  My hands now look like they belong to an aging French hooker!  Hooray!

Fortunately, the medicine chest also contains a bottle of good ol' American nail polish remover, which I suspect I'll be putting to use before the end of the week.