Over the past few weeks, probably since I first started seriously thinking about starting a blog, I began taking more conscious steps toward trying to find myself. Most of the steps I have taken to this point have been baby steps. But in little ways I am doing things for me.
For example, three weeks ago I went for a manicure. Edie asked me to select my polish before she started working on my nails. I looked over the sample colors of polish each painted onto a acrylic nail tip fastened to an over-sized keychain ring. After carefully considering all of the color choices, I finally decided on a light kind of earthen brown color. Kinda safe. Kinda boring. Kinda librarian. Kinda Baptist preacher’s son’s wife. Kinda grandmotherly.
When I showed Edie the color I had chosen, she crinkled up her nose in disapproval. She and her sister Mary then began holding shades of red and wine-colored nail tips on my left pinky, commenting on how the different colors looked with my skin tones. I had never really considered how a color might compliment my skin, my hands. To the contrary, I have always wanted to hide my hands, my ragged cuticles, my chipped nails. But the girls convinced to try a very bright ‘fire engine red’. I told the girls that Paul really, really didn’t like red polish. Especially for a pedicure but not much better on a manicure. Half teasing, I told Edie that I would need to change the color to ‘Cincinnati Reds red’ thinking that Paul might like it better if he thought it was a shade named for his favorite baseball team.
The bright red looked good! Fallish. Kinda pretty with my fading summer suntan. I had stepped out of my comfort zone. But later that night, Paul did comment on my color choice. I told him I had chosen ‘Cincinnati Red’ just for him and he asked me to hold it up to his Reds tee shirt to compare colors. Close but no cigar. During the next two, almost three weeks that I wore the red, Paul asked about it several more times but it seemed to grow on him and then became a non-event.
Last Friday it was time for a fresh manicure. I toyed with the ring of polish choices. Pink is nice. Or mauve? Maybe something in a pale purple color, Paul’s favorite color is purple.
Then I saw this incredible, slightly burnt orange color. Ultra shiny, very fallish. And one week later, I still like it…on my hands!
Moral of the story: It is ok if I choose a nail color I like for my nails. I don’t have to justify my choice to anyone. They are my nails after all. They are my nails.
Hugs and kisses,