Tuesday, May 27, 2014


When I was little, my dad would paint my nails for me. Usually I think that's a mom/daughter thing but my dad always did mine. My little brother jacob would always want his done too, so we'd be matching. Once I got to the age where keeping my nails trimmed and all other kinds of personal hygiene were my responsibility and no longer my parents, I was constantly getting hang nails. I would always cut my nails the wrong way and then I'd end up having to soak in epsom salt so my mom could perform what I viewed as surgery for my hand. It was very dramatic. I obviously have a very low pain threshold.

Over the years, I've finally gotten the cutting part down but still fall short on being one of those put together girls with nails that are always done. Even though I can't do my own nails, every once in a while, I go to get a manicure so my hands stop looking like a 40 year old man who works construction. Since I keep them so short (my aunt once asked if I knew I wasn't required to keep them that short), gel tips are never an option. My nail polish ends up lasting 3 days at the very, very most without chipping. This is with me being extremely careful not to mess it up and maybe a few touch ups done by my sister (she got the nails/makeup/general beauty talent in our household). 

Once they start chipping, I have to remove all the nail polish. I can't stand the chipping! Which is probably a sign of my perfectionist nature. So this week, after using the last of my gift card money at the salon, I challenged myself to keep the nail polish on even after it chipped. It's been five days and I can barely take it. I think maybe it's time to not be so hard on myself. Chipped nail polish, and all the other flaws that make up me, are okay. 

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