Sometimes when I am really bored and am waiting to meet someone or do something and am on the mean city streets with nothing to do, I enter a CVS, into that red land of compliance and repressed disappointment, and look at the nail polishes.
Nail polish is more pleasing to look at than aspirin, tampons, glossy magazines, Pringles, or cheap hosiery. They are often in nice bottles, in pleasing gradients of colors in neat little lines.
Unfortunately, I don't actually enjoy nail polish, and I don't actually painting my nails. It is a messy experience that requires patience, dry time, and a tolerance for strong chemical smells. If/after I have successfully painted my nails, I stare at them for days, noticing each chip and flake and tear.
But boredom always wins, and I always find myself at CVS, looking at those beautiful yet cute essie bottles, letting the cool, smooth glass soothe my palm as I walk towards the self check-out machines.
This is my story of nail polish.
Homework: Please think about your story of nail polish.
