Nail polish, sort of.

The other day, one of my classmates remarked on my neon pink nail polish. She said it was "so me" and then noted with surprise that it was totally chipped. Up until recently, I always had perfectly manicured fake nails that were, of course, never chipped. This same classmate always commented on how nice those nails were. [sidebar: women are weirdos.]

In high school, one of the boys told me once that he loved that my nail polish was always chipped. In high school, it always was. I remember him telling me that it was like, a girly thing that I did, but then didn't stick to. As usual. Remembering this exchange (it was in senior court, some afternoon) made me smile. I think about it every time I have chipped nail polish, which, as I mentioned, means it's been a few years.

As this classmate was telling me about her judgment of my chipped nail polish, I stopped listening, because I was just thinking about him, instead.

Nail polish doesn't matter. But apparently, 5+ years later, I still remember his opinion. That's a nice thing.