As I get older, I find that I get more vain.
Wait, that's not right. I'm probably maintaining the same amount of vaining, but I put a lot more work into my appearance than I used to. You have to, when you're not 22 with knee-length hair, I guess.
I spent 10 minutes putting my wet hair into a French twist this morning. Ten bobby pins. And the whole thing fell out before I'd even turned off my road. But I tried, goddammit. I TRIED. I even took that picture, just so I could prove to the world that I had tried something beyond my basic wet-hair-day-dorky-librarian bun.
And recently, I started painting my fingernails for the first time.
In... pretty much my whole life.
And now I'm hooked.
So that's dark purple with an overlay of lime green glitter, then I painted the tips dark purple because they got so freakin' chipped.
At first, I was mystified as to the chippage.
"But I use an anti-chip top coat!" I wailed to myself, in private.
Then I remembered that I'm a WRITER.
I spend 50% of my waking life typing on a laptop.
Chippity chip chip, baby.
That color was especially chosen because it matches my car.
I love matching my car.
And I'm contemplating a wrist tattoo, when I sell the next book. I'm trying it out, drawing it differently every day. The current one is horizontal, which works better.
And that's from tonight.
It's a deep, dark, twilight-ly purple called Chinatown.
I want to lick it.
But I tried that, and it tasted TERRIBLE.
Not like shnozberries at all.
So I was curious.
Why, after 33 years, would I suddenly start painting my nails?
And then it hit me.
Every single color in there contains the word
Finally, nail polishes dry too fast for me to ruin them.
I'm the least patient person that has ever existed.
I'm already bored with this blog post, and I haven't even finished writing it.
I'M READY TO WRITE SOMETHING ELSE NOW, PLEASE.
But I can wait 60 seconds.
So I think that's the difference.
I finally have time to feel pretty.
AND IT IS AWESOME.