Nails and the having of them

This isn’t an update. Not really.

A long time ago in the mists of blah blah etc etc choose your preferred metaphor for “a while previous to now”, I used to write ‘my blog’ (how quaint) a lot more frequently. For whatever reason, I’m too tired to psychoanalyze it, I haven’t done so here.

I might? Now and again? When the mood takes me, natch.

The mood is here.

Got my nails done

For the past few months I’ve been getting regular manicure/pedicures. Now, in our metrosexual woke 21st century there’s nothing really weird about that – in fact anyone who asks, I thoroughly recommend it, especially if you skip the strip mall and try to find a salon or person who really takes their work seriously. And I have and I did.

I don’t care a whole lot about how I look. I’m too old and too dull to really worry anymore, and fashion was never my thing. So I don’t get mani-pedis for looks, or fashion, or even health. It’s just a really nice relaxing experience, because man, you get pampered, or at least, I do. My nail technician treats me good, y’all, and I don’t think I’m special. For that 90 or so minutes I’m in the chair I can zone out, think about whatever I want to, watch the world go by and get, as was once memorably said, “a motherfuckin’ foot massage”.

And yesterday on a whim I got my nails painted.

Normally I skip that part, which is perfectly fine. You can get your nails trimmed, your feet buffed and scraped, everything filed down and feeling good and then just not bother with the polish, but yesterday I said to my girl “Let’s do this”, and so we did. I walked out of the place with a sort of sparkly sea green on my nails. Just my hands, but mostly because I don’t wear open-toe shoes.

Throughout the rest of the night, whenever I’d look at my hands, there they were. Surprising me each and every time. I did that? Me? But yeah, I did. And every time I got surprised I also felt something else: pride. Not, “Oh boy, look at me, striking a blow for equality and love and equal rights” but more “Hey, I did something new and different and this is very much not my brand, but also it very much is my brand, so go me.”

Can you guess why I’m talking about this here, and not on, say, my social media accounts? My real social media accounts?

Not because I’m scared, not because I’m embarrassed. But because I think this signals something that I’ve known for a while: I’m bi. Actually bi, not make-believe bi, not bi-in-my-writing bi, but actually bi liking men as well as women and also liking men who look like women bi.

Yeah. I think that’s a thing.

And no, even in my woke metrosexual 21st century real life I’m not ready to stand up and say this – yet. But, I am walking around with some very lovely nails, thank you.

Why yes, you may compliment them.