The Polish

We've discussed how I'm one of those ladies who has read Pride and Prejudice 17 times and appreciates a well executed romantic comedy and has like 7 different types of shampoo in my shower and all that, right?

Right.

Well, then it probably won't surprise you to discover that I love fingernail polish.

I said LOVE and I meant it.

Each month, I allow myself the selection and purchase of one $8 OPI nail polish, and it's something I look forward to, like picking Odessa up from daycare every day and skwunching Bryan when he gets home from the field on Friday nights. I sometimes feel guilty spending that kind of money on nail polish, but I figure some people go out and spend $8 on beer and cigarettes, and I don't. So there.

You may ask, "Jesslyn, what's so great about fingernail polish?"

Well, aside from the the smell of it, which I find oddly (also, disturbingly) comforting, I like the fact that after you apply it, you are obligated to abstain from any manual activity for at least half an hour. Also, You have not one but TWENTY places on your body on which to apply it. And you can use it to bedazzle your chigger bites. But perhaps most importantly, wearing nail polish makes you feel like you're not such a disgusting slob. It's like in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, when it explains why you should always carry a towel when hitchhiking through the galaxies:

"...A towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with."

In short, if your nails are nicely painted, people just assume you aren't wearing the same pair of underwear you wore yesterday, only inside out.

Another thing about nail polishes: they have such wonderful, evocative names. Here are a few from my collection:

• Midnight in Moscow (black with sparkles)
• Meet me on the Star Ferry (opalescent violet)
• What's With the Cattitude? (light blue)
• Fiji Ouiji Fawn (beige)
• Bling Dynasty (gold)
• Big Apple Red (red. duh.)
• Black Cherry Chutney (eggplant)

Not that I know what any of this means, because I don't. But I love to go through the nail polishes at the store and decide what name I want and what color I want and whether it should be sparkly or not.

All said, I think I probably missed my calling as a nail polish namer. Seriously, I would be so good at it.

And you know what I would name my first favorite color? Sweet Jane Argentina.

(You know what you did, Madam.)