Maybe this latest discovery of mine is backed by zero evidence, but there it is. My perfect manicure—with black nail polish, no less—is making me happy this week. I'm not sure why. I usually dislike being made conscious of my nails, which are almost always in a state of ragged neglect, by colored polish. But my sister in law took me for a manicure for a Christmas gift, and I love it.
Sometimes there's nothing deep about being happy. Sometimes it's just a really shiny set of nails. Even if I do look slightly like Cruella de Vil.
Lovely, Cruella. I'm old enough that I'm still a little startled by black or purple nail color. (The purple sometimes looks like a hypothermia emergency.) I also don't like to be conscious of my nails and a holdover from my orchestra days is that I keep them very short. Yes, I have found that very simple things can make me happy: like the fact that Market Basket occasionally sells Hood cherry vanilla ice cream. That was my dad's favorite and we often had it every night for dessert at suppertime.
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