Painted claws

I can’t remember the last time I painted my fingernails. It might have been my first wedding.  It was definitely during my first marriage. I know I didn’t do my nails for the second marriage.  I was pregnant and I didn’t give a shit about that kind of detail.

But, I painted my nails this weekend. Why? Well I will tell you why I did it. After all of these long, weird years, I did it to hide the dirt.

I swear, my nails constantly look gross. It’s playdough, baby powder, dried up fingerpaint, the kiddo’s boogers, and who knows what else.  I do my danged best to clean these girls up.  But, I have to flash them around a lot: handing clients exhibits on the stand, pointing an index finger in an opposing counsel’s face, and even just waiving them around like I know what I’m talking about. My nails ordinarily look like they belong on a homeless gardener. 

But, no more my friends. Fingernail polish has prevailed all week long.  I even did a mid-week touch-up. I get it now. I know why all the ladies do it.  It hides the grime and makes it shine. All week I have been flashing around my nails with pride. My husband- if he noticed- never said a word.  But, I’m not the type to care about the lack of concern about my nails. I’m just perplexed about his failure to attend to the details around him.  Pay attention dude. These nails are metallic and sparky.  If you don’t notice I painted my nails for the first time since we met, it’s your loss. You’re sleeping through the details- and even the cool kids know, details are the best part of life.

And I like these nails. So far, I think. I think I’m sticking with it. But we’ll see. These dreams of mine- they just keep tumbling by.