I’m such a bad girly girl when it comes to nails. I never go get them done and besides clipping I rarely do them myself. I feel like it takes up so much time and effort and honestly my life as of late (and when I say late I mean the last few years) has been too stressful and exhausting to care much about nails.
I leave tomorrow for theater camp (Yes, I teach theater camp every summer. It’s only a week and it’s a big ball of ridiculous.) and I’ve had “Paint Nails” on my to-do list for over a week. Today I finally had the chance. I decided on blue for my toes (which I actually do paint often, mainly because it stays on longer) but wanted something lighter for my hands. When I looked through old polish, I realized that I didn’t have many choices. Most were pretty dried out, which was such a sad sight and a reminder that I need to clean out that drawer. But red was great so I thought, “Risk it!!”
I think there is a nasty stigma for me with red nails, branching from the days of my youth, when red nails equaled not classy and slightly whorish (raised in the south, remember?). I now know this is not true, but whenever I think about red nails, I feel self conscious, as though I’ll be secretly judged. This came to mind as I picked up the bottle and once again I reminded myself that no one is paying that close of attention to me. No one gives a crap what’s on my nails.
I felt snazzier once I had it on, as though my sheik level had just been raised. And it had the beneficial reaction of getting me moving. I had felt kind sleepy and hadn’t found the motivation to get up and do anything yet. But after my nail painting was complete, I suddenly wanted to get out in the world and show off my boldness.
And as I suspected, no one gave a crap. No one even noticed.