I am a girl. I live with all boys-right down to the four legged one named Kipling. All boys. The one defining piece of femininity I most enjoy is painting my fingernails. It is silly and girly and impractical seeing how my hands are more about working than showing, but still, I enjoy the process of adding a little color to my fingers. The conundrum comes with finding the time that allows me to sit long enough to paint my nails not to mention enough time for said lacquered nails to dry.
I was thinking about this the other day as I tempted fate and tried to paint my nails-in the middle of the day. The house was quiet. The dog was resting. Then Harry's friend Elle came to play which stirred the sleeping dog which prompted me to run interference. The result was chipped nail polish.
Chipped nail polish reminds me of my good intentions to find beauty in a world that is wild and adventurous. It reminds me to not take myself too seriously-have fun, be winsome. Laugh and go with the unexpected. It is only nail polish after all.