You know what they say about best intentions, and therefore you know where that leads.
For me, a recent best intention landed me with sticky, glitter fingers, a massive headache and four hours of cursing my best intentions.
You see, my daughter was having a hard day. She needed a little cheering up. I just happened to be in a store where they sold nail polish and my daughter loves to paint her nails. She likes to paint mine too, which is kind, though I’m not one for glamour nails.
Hey, if it makes her happy, I play along.
That’s when I saw it: the tiny glass bottle of glitter nail polish with the long white top, glowing in the glare of the obnoxious overhead retail lights: “birthday confetti.” Sparkles of blue, pink, yellow, green, purple and red all crammed in the thick transparent liquid lacquer. This would make my daughter’s day.
I was right. It did. She brightened up like the sparkles in the jar. She applied her new nail polish immediately. It looked as if she’d dipped her fingers in the toppings of a vanilla sprinkle donut. It was fun, fresh and glittery. It was different, but she liked it. I did too.
Next thing you know, she’d cleared the kitchen table to create a makeshift nail salon to share her gift with me. She knows I can’t be trusted to apply nail polish on my own. There’s no way my left hand could be steady enough to paint my right hand’s nails, and my right hand would surely slop too much nail polish on to make it look like full coverage.
Estheticians are magicians, you know.
This was a longer application process than I expected, but my girl was very serious. We timed it between hockey periods, so my nails would dry in between. Two coats. One sealant coat. I had more lacquer coverage than our backyard deck had varnish. Teflon strength.
I’m not going to lie, I loved this nail polish. My fingernails were playful, colourful and ridiculous. Instant joy. Certainly not my typical style (as if I have one), but a fun switch. Besides, I don’t work in the public eye, so who would care if my hands looked like a confetti celebration went awry?
Then came the day where I did have to work with the public, in a really public way, mingling and mixing, potentially shaking hands, about a week after this nail polish application. The birthday confetti had to come off.
If only it would. That nail polish had binded to my nail bed like concrete. The most noxious of nail polish removers couldn’t take this glitter off, though it was making me sufficiently high enough to forget what I was thinking when I agreed to this application in the first place.
I am serious when I say removing the nail polish was a four-hour battle. Hands soaked in hot, soapy dish water, followed by cotton balls soaked in acrylic nail remover solution, then scrubs with a dish scour pad; you name it, I tried it. If I had time, the palm sander was looking like a possibility.
To all the mothers who do whatever it takes to make their children feel joy in a world gone mad, I sincerely wish you a lovely Mother’s Day, glitter and all.
