Are you sure you want to reveal all that? This is the implication of that comment. Politicians are always getting in trouble for tying their shoelaces the wrong way, stepping into the closet with so and so, etc. But I figure it like this: I have had sex in my life, I have pimples, and I even have a fungus on my toe. I just polished them today, after going on a "polish diet" in the hopes that the toe would become glowingly healthy.
So what is the difference? When am I hiding, and when does it feel right to expose? Hiding the fact that I eat to replace feelings does not seem well worth hiding. Just makes me want to eat. But the toes were staring at me every time I taught, and looked down at them. Seeing what others might see. So, I was inspired to polish the toes (I did not do it. I am hopeless in all beauty pursuits. If smearing meat grease on your face was one, then I would be an expert.) because I am tired of looking at my sad, sad toe. It is the big toe on my right foot. I know how it got there. All the lovely piles of sugar I shoved in my face. I am sure you could argue it was something else, but this is my belief.
Anyway, today I decided that staring at my toes, when I am teaching, makes me feel bad. It is not like I am trying to stretch my forty-year-old face into a different, prettier mask that doesn't move. I don't like those creepy eyebrows that arch permanently with face freezing. I'll take my wrinkles, thank you. But the toes bother me. I decided today, that it makes my very childish heart happy, to stare at polish on them. (toes) I look down, and the color smiles up at me.
I am not against people freezing their faces, removing or adding things to their bodies. But this is not my idea of fun. I do not like being waxed, plucked at, dyed, or any of the above. It is not for moral reasons. I am not a nature girl. I like my body being left intact. The more people fuss, the more anxious I become and the more I start looking. I prefer not to be bothered.
But the toes were a delight. I went to a place nearby. I felt very proud of myself, because I realized I had shame around this toenail. It was my scarlet "A." If you are so disgusting to have made yourself get a fungus, I had thought, then you deserve to have it paraded around. Today I thought: this is NOT right thinking.
But I wasn't finished liberating. Because when the woman was done, I squinted at the toes. Squinted some more. It looked spotty, shoddy, half done. And I am hardly fussy about grooming. The color looked sheer-ish, even though it wasn't. Instead of a soft beigey pink, it looked dingey. You could see bits of toe underneath. And my first reaction: Oh, just leave it. That's what you get. Then....an alarm bell went off. YOU ARE STILL IN SHAME. STILL PUNISHING YOURSELF. So you get polish, but not a nice looking job. An almost but not. Very Woody Allen.
I told them politely, apologizing, and pointed. Three Chinese ladies conferred among themselves. I imagined something like the Seinfeld episdoe where they are speaking about (in the nail shop) what a jerk Elaine is. I continued to say, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but it doesn't look nice.
I told the woman who did it, in my own new age nail mantra, "It's not you. It's my toes."
Everybody smiled. Everybody was happy. I got a fourth coat of polish. And now my toes look pretty.
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