Nailed

I'm currently trying to hide from one of my children. We are engaged in a subtle form of Keep away.  She doesn't know I'm it.  It's not anything psychological or emotional; it's just she has an idea, a vision she wants to enact and it involves me.  She wants to paint my nails.

Now I am not a nail polish kind of gal.  I didn't like it in high school and I still don't care for it now.  Even pedicures which I don't mind and actually need to keep my feet in shape, I would prefer without the paint bit at the end.  It's not just I hate the smell. I hate the sound of the emory board scraping the nails.  I don't like the pushing of the cuticles with little wooden punts or the pushing and cutting and trimming --I can't watch; even reading about how it is done kind of creeps me out.  But worst of all, you have to sit still for at least 20 minutes after the final coat to keep from having it look tacky and nasty within minutes.  Twenty minutes.

Do you know what could happen to my house in 20 minutes if I weren't able to use my hands to intervein?  I don't and frankly I'm scared to find out.  On top of that, I just don't sit still for 20 minutes anyway. Even as a student, sitting in a class, my leg would be bouncing under the desk or I'd be doodling while following the text or taking notes, I don't single task anything and so stillness, forced stillness is the most stressful thing I can imagine. At the hairdresser's, where other people relax when their locks are being brushed and dried and styled, I'm thinking "Okay, I've been here, my hair is cut let's go I'm done." I even twitch, talk and thrash around in my sleep.  You'll know I'm dead when I stop moving long enough for someone to do my hair properly.   

But my daughter bought beautiful sparkly pink nail polish with her own money and after I showed her how to use it, she reasoned, I would love it too.   I begged off the first day because as I explained, I needed my hands to do the dishes, feed the baby, bathe the children and get them dressed for bed.   The second day, I pointed out we didn't have time because we had swimming lessons.  

The third day, she helped with dinner and used paper plates.  I thought I was cornered until she couldn't find her nail polish.  I promise I didn't hide it.   I did use the opportunity to explain that people like to pick their own colors.  "Well," she said, "You could buy your own tomorrow when we go shopping." I couldn't see a way out so I mumbled that I'd try to remember.  She left a note reminding me on my pillow.  She called while I was out shopping to ask what color I'd picked.  Grudgingly, I went to the makeup aisle and picked a shade.

So tomorrow, it's happening.  I surrender.  My fingers will be a soft coral if all goes as anticipated.  I know it will bring her joy to paint my fingers.  If I'm going to be stuck for 20 minutes, I might has well make the best of it.  Wonder if she'd be interested in cutting my hair as well.