I’d like to share with all of you my obsession with painting
my nails. I’m ready to anecdote this biznitch!
It all started when I graduated college. Without my friends
as neighbors any longer, I actually had to make an effort to see people, so I did.
I headed back up to my alma mater where a few friends were staying and I was
pressured into doing ‘fun things’ because I was ‘boring’…. yes, they coined the
name ’No Fun Cassie’. Instead of watching them longboard, I was urged to
actually participate and who would have thunkit, I was actually pretty
fantastic; that is, until magic happened and in some weird yet graceful turns
in opposition of each other resulted in a shattered right foot. I was told that
the way it happened looked like I intentionally laid on my back in the fetal
position gasping air into my clenched muscles. I guess years of dance really do
produce muscle memory…
After spending two nights feeling bruised and swollen but
ultimately fine, I landed in the ER after being verbally assaulted by a
neighbor of 6 years that I had never before spoken to about foot injuries.
After crawling up the stairs back to my mother and sister, I regurgitated my
experiences, including the infuriated neighbor. She looks at me, puts her head
in her hands, and sighs, ‘well, we’re going now then. I’m not spending my
entire night in the ER.”
And to the hospital we went!! I shoved my 300% enlarged foot
into the check-in lady’s face and she put me right into a room. (I guess if you
really want a room in the ER, just bring in an enlarged body part and you’re
golden!) They wheeled me into the radiation room and the technician allowed me
to view my foot before the film was printed. Turns out I had shattered my three
middle metatarsals in my right foot. The tiny Russian nurse came in and told me
I was too puffy for a cast so she proceeded to splint me up, and when I say ‘she’
I mean my mom. The nurse handed my mother the splint and told her to mold it to
my foot and she walked away. What? Just because she was in scrubs doesn’t mean
she should be setting splints. Regardless, we ventured home on crutches and I
was told to R.I.C.E.
After a week stuck on
my back, literally, I went to the Dr. to get casted and it was really really
fun. I get home and sleep and out of nowhere come the stabbiest pains now that
my bones are in place again. After the cast was put on all fun was over. I was Rapunzel,
locked up high, without anyone to keep me company. My mom and sister both work so
I was alone for 8 weeks. I got really low to the point where the only thing
that I could do that would take my mind of the mind-numbing boredom was to
paint my nails. I painted them every morning just to pick it all off over
night, just to paint them again the following morning, and from that monotony
came my sick obsession to always have my nails done.
Anecdote finished…
Since then, I’ve gotten my daily painting down to once a
week. I spend most Sunday nights paining my nails a new color for the days
ahead. I seem to always find a color I don’t
have and absolutely need (because everyone needs obscene amounts of nail color,
duh.) while I’m out anywhere. My collection
is gargantuan and it continues to grow. I’m considering getting a rack soon to
see them all. Marshalls is always great to get discounted off season colors,
FYI.
I guess this post wasn’t really about nail polish, but my fragmented
appendage. Oh well. Thanks for reading!
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