A natural disaster is what they are. Fingernails chipped and uneven. Cuticles with a life of their own. Mud lodged into knuckles and palms so caked with grime no palmist could make sense out their story.
What’s a girl who likes to play in the dirt in the good old summertime to do? I try to wear gloves when gardening, especially when tending to roses, but find that for weeds, watering and deadheading I need my bare hands in the soil.
When I held out my handful of bills to pay for a few groceries at the store, I was aghast at how ragged and worn out my hands looked. With no time for a manicure, I took matters into my own hands, and carved some time out of my evening, emery board and nail buffer at the ready.
I filed and buffed, applied hand cream and nail strengthener. I shook the bottle of nail polish I selected from a few choices in the cabinet. Out came the applicator oozing with a color neutral enough to say summer, dark enough to cover my dirty sins. One finger, the two. One hand then the other. As my nails dried, I felt a tad optimistic about how I handled my fistfuls of angst. I secured the bottle’s cap and then noticed that I had just painted my nails in Sally Hansen #250, with the unexpected name of Mudslide!