When my sister got married, I got my nails done for the first time, and I remember Steve (Lori #1’s hubby) acting very sure that I was going to hate it. I was like, “Pssssshhhh! I’m going to be such a diva with fake nails. It’s going to be awesome!”
Then, I got the fake nails, and I hated them.
They were long and pretty, but they inhibited me in every way imaginable. I couldn’t work buttons and zippers on my clothes. I for sure couldn’t play softball. I couldn’t type. I couldn’t eat. And, okay, they weren’t quite as bad as all that, but I definitely became ultra-aware of my hands, and tried hard not to break the darn things by using my hands in a normal way.
About twenty minutes after the wedding, I ripped the things off. I’m sure there’s some sort of process for getting them off painlessly and without the weird glue-y-ness residue sticking around forever, but I couldn’t handle it any longer. I had to be rid of them.
Well, I recently decided that I no longer want to pay for pedicures, especially because I rip my feet all to Hell when the running season comes around, and it doesn’t feel great to have someone rubbing pumice stone all over a two-inch blood blister.
So… I’ve started a small collection of nail polish. And did you know that it’s really not expensive? I can buy at least 3 bottles for $10, and more like 5 bottles if I buy the Walgreens cheap kind.
And you know what’s also amazing? I got excited one day, and decided to paint my fingernails to match my toes, and I feel oh-so-well-accessorized just because my nails are painted. And now that I’m done playing softball, I’m not quite as annoyed when my nails get all long and impractical.
I know that some of you reading this are boys, and you probably don’t care, but this has oddly become an important part of my life lately, and I think about it at least ten times a day. Anything you think about that often is worthy of a blog post in my opinion.