One of the developments in my life in the last year that has surprised me is that I've started doing my nails at 45. I know a lot of you have been doing yours all along the way and wonder what's wrong with me. But caring about my nails was never part of my life. I mean, I kept 'em clean and pushed my ever-persistent cuticles back, but other than that the most effort I have generally made was keeping them cut pretty short.
A lot of people keep their nails short and plain for practical reasons. Truth: my reason was not practical. My reason was that I hated my body, despised it pretty much 24/7, felt hopeless about ever feeling good about the way I looked. Not doing my nails was, FOR ME, just another expression of hatred. I'm not saying that's the case for everyone who has short, plain nails - clearly there are A LOT of good reasons to keep 'em that way. I'm saying that FOR ME, starting to do more than clip 'em off and drive on is a development toward caring for my body, expressing love toward it, and feeling hope that I am not just hopelessly contemptible.
Sometimes, little things mean a lot. Here's to smiling at my french tips.