My Aversion to Difficulty

There's a bottle of Sally Hansen nail polish sitting on the cluttered table next to my side of the bed that I would call taupe.  But, according to the lettering on top of the small gold bottle cap, my current nail color is actually 'Soy Latte.'


I examine my short nailed old woman hands.  Years of dishwashing, cleaning bathrooms and gardening without gloves or sunscreen are evidenced by rivers of ropey green veins under thin mottled skin now freckled with mysterious little constellations of brown age spots.


Though my hands are hopeless, I still have moments in which I aspire to glamour.  I'm right handed, so painting my left hand is easy.  Five deft swipes and I'm done.


I hold my left hand out, fingers splayed and admire my work.  Looking good!


Okay, the easy part is done.  Time to move on to my right hand.  Because my left hand is clumsy, painting the right hand is always a challenge.  So, taking the easy route, I decide to put it off.  I'll wait for my left hand to dry before tackling the right.  Seems reasonable.


Meanwhile, I assemble my equipment: cotton balls, Q-Tips, and a lavender bottle of acetone nail polish remover.  Experience has taught me that I will need all three.  My inept left hand will inevitably smear polish all over my right hand.


But as it turns out, I don't need acetone, Q-Tips or cotton balls after all.  Why not?  Because I never get around to painting my right hand.


That's correct.  I've been going around for days now with one hand painted, the other not.  And because I neglected to apply a top coat, my left hand now looks like a chipped, soy latte disaster.


I know, I'm shameless.  Even as I write this, I can hear my long dead mother's voice: "Oh Martha, I don't know how I could have raised a girl with so little pride!" 


Why did I never get around to painting my right hand?  I could say I got distracted, sleepy, or forgetful, or perhaps that my husband turned out the light.  There could even be a smidgen of truth to any one of those excuses.  But I know the real answer:  Painting the right hand is difficult.  No swipe, swipe, done, but rather, swipe, oops, grimace, saturate a cotton ball, swab, scrub, and start all over again. 


Like I said, difficult.  And I've had a life long aversion to difficulties, even the little ones. 


UPDATE:  Last night, after publishing this shameless blog, I painted BOTH of my hands, not with 'Soy Latte' but an unnamed coppery color by Sally Girl.  Yea!  A small but satisfying accomplishment. 

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