is that I can’t wear nailpolish.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve been in love with nail polish. And most people that know me well enough, know this about me.
“She has gentle hands and beautifully painted nails, I believe almost all of the time.” - Lucia Villa
The color they are without the soft polish is a stained yellow, as if I were sick or did drugs.
They are that way because over the course of most of my years I have so consistantly worn nail polish that my actual nails hardly have space to breathe. But they adore being beautiful.
It’s such a fun thing about being a girl. My clothes are multicolored. Stripes and florals. My hair can be cut a million different ways, highlights, no highlights. Bright orange lipstick.
And nail polish. My mom always had every essencial item to properly grooming your nails. And almost every day I would come home from school, sit on the couch watching TV and refile, clip, cut, and color that weird plastic like material on the top of my fingers. Some days they would be one colour: a bright red or a deep purple. Other days they would be mutilcoloured. Yellow, orange, green, blue. Each finger painted different. Or I’d do designs like polka dots and stripes. And they changed almost every day. Sometimes twice a day. I was always the girl who painted nails for her friends. I would be at someones house for a sleep over and within the hour they would ask, “Will you paint my nails?” I mastered the art of painting with my left hand in 4th grade. Manicurists at salons would always compliment me or ask me if I got my nails done regularly. It is something I can easily say I’m proud of.
I cannot go to Urban Outfitters or Forever 21 without buying nail polish. I see a colour I love and I grab it. Realizing, of course, after the purchase, when I finally get home, that I have three other bottles of the exact same colour.
When I started working at Target, having to wear a uniform (red and tan) everyday was a challange. But at least I had my nails. One day, I was so dreadfully not wanting to go to work (definitely during the holiday season or one of my over night shifts) that I painted one single nail a new bright blue before I left my house that day, for hope, that soon it would be over and I would be able to go home and peacefully paint the rest of my nails that bright blue that had been acting as an angel during my whole shift.
So, having this be such a huge part of who I am, you might be able to understand how detrimental it is to my soul to not be aloud to wear nail polish on the days that I work, which is most often five days a week. It’s rather sad revealing to people my naturally yellow tinted nails. Feeling bland and monotonous as I wear the same outfit everyday, hair pulled back, black cap on.
But the rest of Today, Tomorrow, and Monday are mine. I am a free bird, a workless wonder, and as I type out this poetic piece about my love affair with pristine polish, I wait for my nails to dry. I stare at them, gleaming, both myself and the colour combo I’ve created. For hope, that one day I won’t be working in uniform. I won’t hate people and I won’t come home smelling like mocha and passion tea lemonade. I’ll be able to wear whatever I want to work, say whatever I want, and most, oh, most definitely will I be able to paint my nails whatever damn colour I want! Every. Single. Day.
Until then, I’ll live for the hours I have absolutely no obligations except to my hearts desire and the nail polish.