No, not a bottle of cheap merlot. Nail polish. You see, I have a weakness for polishing my toes. I can’t keep polish on my fingernails longer than about fifteen minutes without it starting to peel, and besides, I never broke myself of the habit of picking at them when nervous (much to my husband’s chagrin), so even if it did stay on, my fingernails aren’t anything I really want to draw attention to. But something about catching a glimpse of vivid color in my peripheral vision when walking about barefoot or sandaled just makes me happy. And not just any nail polish will do. It’s got to be OPI Nail Polish. The rich, juicy shades, the ever-so clever names—the expertly designed marketing campaigns that I am such a sucker for. Oh well. Whether it’s “Buy-buy Tokyo” red, "We'll Always Have Paris" purple or "Yoga-Ta Get This Blue!" (above), I’m always much happier when my toes are done. Sometimes I feel a bit guilty for my little indulgence. I mean, I was just listening to the October 5th podcast of my favorite personal finance radio program, The Ilyce Glink Show, where Ilyce was calmly and compassionately explaining to an older gentleman who had fallen behind on mortgage payments that if he owed more money than his house was currently worth, unless his mortgage-holder was willing to work something out with him, he and his wife would have to start getting used to the idea that they might have to move out. Oh, and on top of that—the man has lung cancer. Yes, he bought the house with no money down and in retrospect maybe that wasn’t the best decision, but he got sucked in by the dream just like everybody else. So this guy has lung cancer, is close to retirement if not already retired, and may lose his home ... and I’m doing my nails. Sigh ... But I like doing my toenails. I treasure the opportunity to sequester myself in the bedroom every few weeks and complete my routine. I carefully remove all traces of the old polish, trim and clean my toenails, push down the cuticles, trim up the skin with one of those cool little nippers, file down the surfaces with an emery board, put in my green flower-shaped spacers, and ever so carefully layer on the rich, vibrant color, taking care to quickly swipe away any extraneous polish with a bit of cotton wrapped around an orange stick dipped in polish remover. It’s really quite meditative. It’s the sort of activity that lends itself to complete focus, and how can that not be a good thing? So I stop and give thanks that my life affords me the luxury of being able to spend a little time and a little money on something that gives me pleasure. I send out kind thoughts to the man and his wife trying to save their home, and I look down at my toes and smile.
