On Being Pampered

"What color do you want?" Kyra, my five year-old, demanded.

"None, thanks...I'm good."

"Boring! Nobody will see, Daddy."

"How do you know?"

"BeCAUSE...people don't look down when they look at you. They look in your eyes." Duh. "So, what color do you want?"

She's persistant. I've got to give her that. "This color." I said as I pointed to my fingernail, implying that I wanted to go au natural. She didn't get it.

"Pink! Boys don't wear pink!"

Kid, you didn't know me in the 80's. "What color do you think?"

"Blue...boys wear blue."

It was actually a light aqua. You don't see too many boys in light aqua either. She carefully opened the small bottle adorned with the image of Ariel, aka the Little Mermaid, on the front.

"What do you want first?" She asked as she tapped her foot.

"Why don't you start with my feet." I replied, hoping that she would grow bored and forget my hands. No chance. She meticulously globbed the aqua blue (oooo with SPARKLES) fingernail polish to my big toe. Notice I didn't say toe-NAIL. Much of it made it to the nail but there was a noticable trail of sparkly aqua blue down my toe. I watched her as she concentrated on the task at hand, or foot, and repeated the process on each toe, then to my left foot, then to my hands. Damn.

But by the time she reached my hands I no longer cared about the stigma of wearing sparkly aqua blue nail polish. My heart swelled as I witnessed and experienced the developing expressions of my youngest daughter's motherly care. She was loving me and I let her.

She examined her handiwork and told me not to do anything until the polish had dried, a process she learned from her mother. I agreed, then watched her run off to the day's next activity. I smiled in amusement as I noticed the scent of blueberry filling the air around me.

Now if I can only remember where Diane keeps her polish remover.