I would like the world to know that I got a manicure, and that crap is whack. When I got to my terminal at Dulles last Friday, it turned out that it was Virgin America's 1st birthday, so there was cake, music, and about 18 children with noisemakers. Hellacious. I struck off to find a quieter place and a wifi signal, but good old Dulles didn't have any wireless fi-- (what does "fi" stand for?) going on anywhere in the terminal. Rad.
Instead, I decided to get a manicure, my first one in 13 years (8th grade graduation, baby!). The stuff was "eco-friendly" so it smelled less noxious than most nail polish, but it was still odorful, and I had a really hard time not knocking against things while it dried. I was pleased at how it turned out, though - I got a dark brown/purple color that was appropriate neither to the season nor my skin tone, but I thought it looked sophisticated in an old lady kind of way.
The problem with liking it is that I got all stressed as it started to chip. That is my point: nail polish chips pretty much immediately, and then it just looks crackwhorish. It made it through most of Saturday ok, but the thumbs were losing it by Sunday, and after swimming laps last night, all I have intact is one pinky. I'm all uneven and upset, and might just peel it off. I feel like this might be a metaphor for my life. Or someone's life, anyway.