Coloring Inside the Lines…

My left hand won’t stop quivering.  Ambidexterity was never something I attempted to cultivate and my poor right hand is paying the price for my ordinariness.  Painstakingly, I hold the tip of the nail polish applicator over the cuticle on my thumb.  A hard jerk, and a wet blob of sea foam green blots the line separating cuticle from nail.  Crap! I use the thumbnail from my opposite hand to clear the mistake.  I am ready to try again.  The online suggestions I read earlier did not include holding my breath, but I squash the air in my chest as if breathing will further unsteady my clumsy hand.  The applicator touches nail this time.  I drag the brush toward the tip of my thumb, leaving a trail of the pretty green color behind it.  A dab of polish lands on the soft curve of flesh; another swipe of the opposite thumbnail erases that smudge, too.  I smile.  I master my accident prone tendencies and get prettified in the process. So much win.

For more on my struggles with fingernail polish and other ‘lady-like’ accouterments, check out Part 1 of my piece “Trying on Womanhood” at The Closet Feminist!

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