You know. The one who only wears light pinks and nude colored nail polish because then it's less obvious when it starts to chip off.
Which, in my mind, is quite brilliant. Though some might see it as lazy. Or boring.
I'm also the kind of person who doesn't invest in nail polish remover. The person who just paints over the last five layers of polish.
Today was monumental though. I bought new polish. Non neutral polish. Polish dubbed Tart Deco and Peach Daiquiri. Although I'm not quite sure where they got peach from. It's really hot pink.
Just thought you'd like to know.
A few years ago, while waiting for a class to start, in my flip flops, toes exposed, this cute boy asked me what color my toenails were. I thought perhaps he's colorblind. "They're red" I said. "No, what's the name of the color?" "RED." "No, no. You know how every nail polish color has a name, like... Ruby Red, or Summer Bliss? What's the name of your nail polish?"
I felt like I didn't deserve to be a girl. Apparently it's a requirement for girls to know the name of their polish. I say it's still red.
Speaking of toes. My first semester, my first week at Sacramento State, I took the light rail into school to avoid the parking pandemonium. That only lasted a few days because of my many encounters with the interesting citizens of Sacramento. Take, for example, James. James was enamored with my feet. He walked by me. Then passed by again. By the fourth time he stopped to talk to me.
"You have beautiful feet. Are you a ballerina?"
He proceeded to talk to me for the next, oh, ten minutes while I prayed for the train to come. He talked about his life ambitions, about Sacramento, about how there should be a magazine solely devoted to, get this... AIR. He talked about my feet. Then, as I was getting on the train, he told me that the next time he came through Sac that he wanted to feed me.
So I told him I probably wouldn't be hungry when that time came and got on the train as quick as I could.
Anyways, now my toenails are tangerine colored.
That's right. I'm livin' on the wild side.
Which makes me think of the last time my toenails were orange. The summer before seventh grade. Is it weird that I remember that?
I had bought BRIGHT orange nail polish, so bright it might make your eyes burn a little, painted myself up, and headed to a luau. I still have the photo. Can I just say, my hair was gorgeous. WHAT HAPPENED? It had all these beautiful natural highlights and didn't have all the little kinks and waves it has now.
But that's besides the point. Wait... what was the point?