Though Rodeo Rose was peachy for initiation, it was only logical that more adventurous choices would follow. Not having a collection to call my own, I sifted through the bathroom drawers searching for lost gold. Again, it was late at night and everyone had already drifted into their make-believe dream worlds. My wife was likely traveling through an exotic beach resort that we have yet to visit, and my kids, so peaceful and innocent when asleep, were likely spinning in their pink costumes dancing in a fantasy world with fluffy pink clouds and pink unicorns. There was I, like a drug addict overtaken with craze and the ever dominating urge hiding in the bathroom with the door closed, looking for where my wife stored her precious supply of nail polish. How silly of an image that was considering I was in my race car boxers and a black T-shirt with pink toenails. Hmm, I need new underwear.
In several drawers, I found scattered bottles of nail polish. Easily recognizable items were the OPI jewels in Wyatt Earple Purple (light pink with sparkles), Argenteeny Pinkini (whitish pink with sparkles), a deep red with sparkles without a label, and a beautiful dark pink also without a label. Others in the mix included Gap Crimson for $2.99, a bright purple with sparkles by Nicole, and two tiny bottles with tiny brushes from Sephora, formulas 227 and 159.
Sparkles? I wasn't bold enough that make that leap so soon. Ok, that's cool. "Pink is okay," I convinced myself in desperation. I committed to changing my color after a week of Rodeo Rose and a lack of color choices would not stop me. There's sufficient acetone left in that old bottle to clear my toes. No cotton balls in the brushed pewter container. Damn it! Sabotage at every corner. I hadn't realized that our drawers were so messy but I did find round cosmetic sponges with vitamin E. Oooohh! Vitamin E. Must be good for you. My wife will wring my neck for wasting her make-up sponges to remove nail polish. I'll hide it and throw it the kitchen trash can. Leave no evidence. So, I proceeded to take the one layer thick pink polish off my toes without a problem. The smell of nail polish remover is very distinct and intoxicating. It's quite volatile as our bathroom quickly permeated with that sweet chemical odor. Nail polish smells even better. Hee, hee.
I grabbed the dark nonmetallic pink and tried with all my might to twist the cap open. It then dawned on me that my daughters, several weeks ago, had asked me to untwist a bottle of nail polish and I couldn't. That must have been THE bottle. Crap, what now? Hell, I'm a crafty man, capable of McGyvering through any problem or situation, even at midnight. I leave the bathroom sanctuary at the risk of waking someone up in a quest to find a tool that would free the life from this stubborn bottle. I find a large clamp in the basement and quickly sneak back into the sanctuary.
Mmmph! No good. Still stuck. Mmmph! It's really stuck! Mmmph! SNAAAP! Oh shit! Shit, shit, SHHIIIITTTT! The neck of the bottle cracked off, completely at the base. The bottle was not full enough so luckily it didn't pour all over our slate flooring. Sharp edges. Pheeww! Good thing I didn't cut my fingers either. That would have been bad showing up in the ER with cut polish-filled fingers. Surely they see worse, like foreign objects..... Stay calm. Everything is under control, as my heart raced and my cheeks turned red from self embarrassment. It's hot in the bathroom now. Quick, paint the toes you big fool. So, one by one, I started to give my toes a breath of fresh air in dark pink. I didn't realize I needed spacers between my toes so I smeered a few toes. Ow, c'mon! Can't I catch a break? More acetone coming up. This time, I'll stick neatly folded toilet paper squares in between. Great! That will do for now. I'm getting exhausted now and I'm hating myself for getting into such an awkward position. The toes are now drying but they also have excess in scattered places like my nail fold and sides. So messy you are. I'll scratch it off later, but for now, let's clean the scene of the crime. I found a tattered ziplock bag underneath the sink and quickly sealed it, knocking the bottle over. I hope the bag is not compromised. I waddle out with toilet paper in between my toes to double bag the crime weapon and triple bag it with a white grocery bag. That smell is so strong that I can still sense it through all those bags, or may be my senses are saturated from being confined in that small space. I must get rid of it. Paranoia sets in. I take it out to my car and put it in the trunk where it will be safe from snitching evil doers. I must be completely insane and out of my mind. It's past 1 a.m. now. I come back in and still no soul is awaken by my rustling of noisy plastic bags and closing doors. I scrape the excess with my fingernails and the hook file from the nail clippers. Not bad, but not perfect. I clear all evidence and dispose of things properly. My fingernails still have some pink just under the nail. Oh well, it will wash off in the morning shower. Time for bed, finally. Tomorrow is another day. I fall dead asleep in seconds.
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