I just painted my nails in a way that can only be described as the embodiment of a 37 year old Floridian women who tans too much and considers her greatest life accomplishment to be the time she won junior prom queen. And she's having a night out in town with her recent boyfriend Brad. Brad is an okay enough guy, but instead of brain cells he has dead skin cells from his excessive tanning, which serves to emphasize his bodybuilding physique, of course.
They’re light coral with silver and light blue glitter on them. My nails, that is.
As an anthropologist, I believe many things in our life are ritualistic, cleaning including. I’m not the type of person who can come home from work and aimlessly tidy things up. No. I need to be prepared.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever—or else swoon to death.