“Inconceivable!” as the short bad guy in “The Princess Bride” would say.
Got my much-needed manicure after work last night. My hands are pretty again, or as pretty as workhorse hands can be. At any rate, I’m pleased with them. Had quite the discussion with NailDude about his sister’s idea of good nails, and mine. She is all for delicate, thin nails that look natural. Excellent in theory, but impractical in my own version of reality.
I learned to type on a manual typewriter. If you were sitting on the couch listening to me type, you would hear bangity-bangity-bang. Have you ever seen an old Underwood, with grooves in the keys where fingernails have them a kajillion times? In the thirteen years I have owned a computer, I have killed three or four keyboards. [In the library. With a lead pipe. While flirting with Professor Plum.]
So the three or four nails which she bullied me into removing and replacing, did not hold up well. One popped off, blowing her theory that the reason my natural nails curl away from the acrylic is because the acrylic is too thick. My own theory is that the solar nail powder, while producing a prettier nail, does not bond as well with the glue. When I was getting standard American nails, I never lost a nail, nor had my own curl away as my nails grew out. I pop a nail every four to six weeks, on average. And I am daily on the lookout for the start of nail fungus.
Sorry, you were probably eating.
I pay for acrylic nails because my natural nails are thin and brittle, and if left to muddle through on their own they split just below the quick and snag on things and rip. I pay for acrylic nails because long nails make me feel feminine. [I pay for acrylic nails because I get to hold hands with a middle-aged, straight, Lutheran guy every three weeks.] I pay for acrylic nails because it keeps them all more or less the same length, and other than the constant inspection mentioned above, I don’t have to do anything about them until it is time for a fill, or the replacement of one that has gone flying. Since I have switched to the famous brand of polish with the clever names for its colors, the actual manicure lasts and lasts and lasts, as well.
But enough about my nails. Let’s talk about sleep. Eight hours last night. After an excellent dinner of the caprese from Chop House [that’s not what he calls the salad, but mozzarella + tomatoes + basil + olive oil = caprese, and it was gooooood], I got woozy about 8:30 and shut down the popcorn stand and went to bed. And I don’t remember waking up during the night. At all. If you’ve been reading the blog for any length of time you will know that this is not the norm, for me, but I wouldn’t mind if it were.
My neck, shoulders, and traps are, well, not exactly relaxed, but palpably less tense. You could still bounce a quarter off them; it just wouldn’t ricochet off the ceiling this morning.
I had planned to attend a fireside about 50 miles from here tonight, but the speaker was called away for a family emergency and will be rescheduled. I like my single friends who live in that neck of the woods just fine, and I have zero interest in getting into Lorelai during the hottest part of the day and driving for more than an hour, without air conditioning, for what has now become a simple potluck. With the likelihood that after working until 10:00 last night and from 6:00 to 2:00 today, the new guy will not feel up to attending.
I did not get the last three rows and the binding-off done on part two of the wedding gift, before I crashed. I will take care of that shortly and cast on for part three. And since I no longer have a social engagement this evening, I foresee much knitting progress throughout the day and into the night. I only have a few groceries to pick up, and Mount Washmore is far from critical mass, so I think this will be a day for reading and pondering and knitting and pondering and napping and pondering.
I hope y’all have a good one, too.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!