I have just been on Ruth’s website and noticed her photo of the orange varnished nails which threw me into peals of laughter!
Okay, I have tried quite a few times to paint mine. Firstly, I am quite flexible, but it’s just my eyesight! Tried the reading specs, legs straight out on floor and bending over towards toes, as I can reach down to my toes. No probs, I thought. Ha ha; dark red colour ALL OVER my toes! THEN I rubbed it all off with cotton wool and nail varnish remover only to find my whole feet were stained RED
So it really makes me laugh whenever I see people with painted toe nails.
One of my sisters (I have SIX) has always got her partner to dye her hair and paint her toenails, so I mentioned it to my lovely hubby, who just gave me his ‘withering’ look and walked away! ” Only married fourteen years, come on honeybunch, where’s the romance gone?”
Perhaps he caught me trying to cut the few long dark leg hairs with my manicure scissors? I have a real thing about razors and have never used them, frightened of blood, whole idea makes me feel sick!
When my youngest daughter was about fourteen, she expressed a wish to get rid of her leg hairs and I was amazed that it was an issue, firstly at that age and secondly at all, it had never ever occurred to me ever to shave my legs. She went on and on about it, so I took her to Boots and asked the assistant to give her the most painful method of hair removal, I think it was wax!
Yes, I do have toe nail separators. Lovely pink foam ones which are difficult to walk in when you have to answer the front door. No, I don’t want any tips because I have given up and thrown out all my nail varnish. I feel LIBERATED
Actually talking about end of eras and enlightenment and liberation on a very practical pedestrian level, as opposed to philosophical, but perhaps both are linked? Oh yes. I have thrown out all those damsons I collected to make my annual stash of jam, thrown out the masses of jam jars AND chopped the tree down! Every …..year I get spat at by hot damson juice, my cooker gets plastered with sticky jam and I spend hours trying to get every last stone out. My hubby goes and hides in the garden as he can’t bear to hear me cursing. Freedom. And NO, I don’t want to make any other type of jams, I have done that. IT’S OVER I am liberated.
Toodlepip! AND I have just remembered my Twitter password so I will be practising how many long incomprehensibly obscure words I can fit into 140 or 150 spaces?