Wednesday, November 9, 2011

 Red is my thing. Red glasses, red lipstick, red nails.
I used to work at a pub, and one day the boss, a gruff balding man with the requisite belly, looked at me as I was carrying three schooners from one end of the bar to the other, and said, 'You always have red nails.'
He then did something manly to counteract his fashion insight, like continue to wipe the bar or something super helpful.
Luckily I was concentrating too much on not spilling the beer to give him the eyebrow spazz out I wanted to - that one where your eyebrows want to shoot up in surprise and frown in consternation at the same time, and end up in a sort of scrunchy wriggle. Firstly, he'd noticed something I hadn't even noticed - that I'd been wearing red nailpolish, with nary a deviation, for about a year. This feat was no doubt helped along by the fact that I had a babe of a housemate with an awesome collection of red nailpolishes, and way too much time on my hands (on my nails?) when I should have been studying. Oh for the carefree days of uni! But I used to bite my nails. Not to the Black Swan cuticle savaging point (aaghhkkk! happy unicorns-fairy-ranbows-ok), but just enough that they were never long. And I have ugly hands. A former housemate (not the babe, a housemate of the man variety) kindly calls my hands 'gluten free sausage fingers', and makes a point of asking to see them anytime we catch up. When I moved to London and smiled politely while serving ignorant caffeine drinkers their lattes, my hands spent inordinate amounts of time in washing up liquid. Slaving away earning £6 an hour (yep, try standing on your feet for 8 hours and not even earning £50!!) completely ruined my nails #firstworldproblems. They were doing that split peely thing, where you can peel a layer off the top. I know, it's gross. Moving into the genteel world of office temping, where I fanny around with people's photocopying rather than press releases, allowed my nails a break - I mean a chance to recover. Three months gallivanting around Italy and France and Australia gave them further time to recover, and at some point I stopped biting them (maybe I felt too sorry for them?) and now my nails are long! YAY!
This is YAY! for several reasons:
It makes wearing red nail polish even more fun.
It makes my gluten free sausage finger hands look sort of nearly nice.
I can really enjoy wearing rings, because my hands look slimmer. I used to wear rings anyway, now I don't feel sorry for anyone who happened to have their attention drawn to my hands due to my love for oversized costume jewellery.
I can now hold court with my two sisters who used to be awful nail biters and now have amazing nails. Booyah, I'm catching up wit' you!
So there you go. Don't bite your nails. And enjoy red nailpolish.
Those are the only two possible morals that can be pinpointed out of this long tail about how I like wearing red nailpolish. It's probably so long because I enjoy the taptaptap my nails make against the keyboard while I type. And also, when you're temping, there's often nothing better to do than write inane posts to later put on your blog.
If you are still awake, below are some quick snaps I took of my three little purchases from the MinkPink/Evil Twin/Staple sample sale. i deleted the pictures. The quality is so bad. I WANT MY CAMERA BACK.
 A gorgeous deep maroon Celtic-esque kimono. Now I just need to get my sister to send my back my Topshop leather pants after foolishly leaving them in Sydney.

A chiffon-y white collared shirt with black star marks. Faintly pagan, with billowing sleeves that cuff into wristbands.

 An olive green maxi dress that will probably not get any wear for a long time, but the cut and fabric are just lovely.

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