And I'm a little verklempt. I don't think I've worn my nails this short since I had a newborn in the house. I love long nails. My hair may be thinning. My derrière may have dropped. I might have laugh lines you could park a Hummer in. But for the past 15 years I have had gloriously long nails.
French or American manicure when I was in the interpreting program. Variations on the theme of hey-sailor red once I graduated, for over 10 years. Pale, pale pink when I became a temple worker, because again the idea was to not call attention to myself, but I was thoroughly sick of French nails, if only for me.
Banjo Dude #1 said I wouldn't have to cut my nails to play the banjo. He erred. So now I have exceedingly genteel nails. My eighth grade home ec teacher would smile approvingly.
My exceedingly genteel nails and I are going to waft ourselves down the hall and see if I can get more than one string in tune before that section of the DVD is done. I really do need a minion to wrangle the DVD player while I wrangle the banjo.
Learning curve? Significantly longer than my nails.
In financial news, after half a day and the efforts or apologies of several people, I was able to get images of the checks I've written for the mortgage faxed to me so I could fax them to the mortgage company. (The bank account is set up in such a way that I cannot log into it myself as I do for my other accounts.) I tracked down the last two blessedly helpful people in the corporate directory, and also the names of their direct supervisors. One email of profuse thanks to the four of them.
I am one tired mommy.