promise

I made a deal with Russell this weekend. A deal I wish someone had made with me. The deal is: if Russell stops biting his nails and actually needs them trimmed with clippers for 6 months straight, I promise to give him $100. Russell is 15. $100 is a lot of money. Especailly if you are 15. I used to bite my nails. I stopped around my 15 birthday. Nobody gave me $100. I don't even know how I stopped. It was a habit. Often you need to replace one habit with another. But, I did it. I grew my nails long. I thought they were pretty. I have re-thought that. Long nails have no appeal to me now. None at all. Mine are short now. And unpolished. Between dishes and painting, lacing handbags and typing, my fingernails are a little less than ideal. My toes on the other hand...or foot, as the case may be, are painted in the summer. I found, what is to me, the perfect color. I love this color so much I've bought a second bottle. My friend and hairdresser hates it. Hates it. How do I know? She told me. I would expect nothing less. We argued about it. The color I mean. I guess the argument ended as we agreed to disagree. Color is subjective. What makes me swoon, might not make you swoon. And that's alright. Pick a color you love. Pick a color that makes you smile. Pick a color that is ALL you. It will be perfect. I promise.