The Saga of the Yellow Nail Polish

So maybe you know that I like to paint my nails, short though they may be. Usually I like to choose colors that complement my skin tone, generally those in the red family, but recently Stephanie gave me some purple. Which led to blue.  Which led to metallic blue.  Which led to..... yellow.  It led to yellow on a Friday when I was in North Webster and had nothing else to do.  I was walking around the Walgreen's looking for a new color to try, when yellow struck me. Now first, I was looking at the pale yellow. Then I thought, good god, I don't want my nails to looks like a fucking Easter egg.  So then I saw this kinda bright, metallic yellow. I took it home.

Now consider the painting circumstances and don't blame me for continuing:  in my dad's living room in almost total darkness.  Because he said he can't tolerate bright lights.  And let's say that I stayed in there with him because I wanted to spend family time together.  Not because of a general laziness I may have been exhibiting.  So, I painted my nails.  And my toenails.  This cheerful yellow.

Day two:  I wake up and omg, these are hideous.  Hideous as in HOLY HELL MY NAILS ARE HIDEOUS.  The color looked so awful against my skin, I can't believe I ever thought it was a good idea to begin with.  It looked so awful that my DAD said it was awful.  And I can't remember when he last criticized my style. Not even when I had blue streaks in my hair.  But let's not say that I was too lazy to take it off.  Let's say instead that I kept it on because I'll bite my nails if they're not painted. Okay, let's agree to that.  And let's agree that when my best friend Anna came to the pool to swim later that day, she advised me to paint a layer of pink on top of them not so much because they were HIDEOUS and she didn't want to be so direct, but rather because she is an artist and likes to layer colors.  And let's agree that when I went to Lacey's that night to get some pink and she suggested that I try these new zebra press-ons, it was because the press-ons were cool. Not because there was a problem with the yellow + pink.

Day three:   On the way to baseball game, my dad, Debbie, and I stopped at my grandma's.  On the way there, my dad continued to gripe about the yellow.  First he said, "Chris, they remind me of that crayon color that children choose when they draw the sun." I said, "Well actually Dad, I think that's a pretty color."  To which he responded, "That was my nice way of saying it's the color of baby shit." To which I responded, "I've never seen baby shit this color, dad." To which he responded, "You would if they ate that yellow crayon." Okay, okay. So, I get it.  But here's the kicker.  My grandma.  My sweet, dear, little grandma who never, ever says anything bad to me.  She looks at my nails and then she looks at me.  I know what she's thinking, but I don't think she'll say anything.  Because she's so nice. Then she looks at my nails again, so I say, "Dad says they're ugly." And she just looks at me and says, "Honey, they're worse than ugly." !!!  MY GRANDMA!  Next thing you know, Debbie is there and it's become an urgent situation to be resolved.  I feel like I'm in the ER.  Debbie:  "Chris, my daughter lives down the road. She has tons of nail polish. You have to get that off.  I'll go and get some colors. I'll be back in five minutes or less. What colors do you want?" Grandma:  "Go get my nail polish remover and clean that off while she's gone." So poor, dejected, rejected me.  And my yellow nails.

It took me 20 minutes to get that color off. While I was taking it off, I just kept thinking --and for the second time that week, might I add, after another white-girl sunburn-- that I wish I weren't white.  African tones, olive Middle Eastern tones,  rusty Native American tones.  I'm sure that all of those tones would have tanned well and looked great with my new nail polish.