Change and I fraternize, occasionally. I’m all for buying new shoes, for example, heading toward new adventures, or eating new delicacies–so long as they’re vintage-inspired, don’t go out of bounds in the comfort area or have unfortunate textures. I guess you could say change and I, we welcome brief encounters, at a party, say, quite thrilling like; but I typically wouldn’t invite it over for tea.
Naturally, I think nothing of this particular fact, until someone brings it up. A few weeks ago, that someone was my mum. While chatting she happened to glance down at my toes. You know, you always pick the same colors, said she. Have you seen all the fun ones out now? You should try something new.
As much as I hate to admit it, more oft than not, she’s usually right. So out I went, and–after roughly an hour of debate–settled on the bright splash of ‘Folly.’ (Oh, the irony!)
I brought it home, carefully applied it to my nails, and waited for the affinity to kick in . . .
Two whole weeks passed, nothing. Finally, I looked down at my toes and exclaimed, I don’t even know you anymore!
And that, was that.
Lucky for me, my mom decided to take her own advice. Figuring her love of dance and all, she purchased ‘Dancing Nails’–she didn’t really love it. But I did. As a matter of fact, the color I chose, she had chosen before; and hers? It just so happens to be one of my favorites.
All is right with the world.
So yes, we’re both back to our old standbys; change is but a fleeting memory.
It just goes to show, sometimes it’s best not to mess with fabulous.