Last week, I was able to clip my own toenails for the first time in months. Suddenly, I had confidence that any day soon, I might be able to reach all ten toenails with the nail polish remover and that day was today. The wintery pale blue applied a scant few weeks after surgery came off and I clipped sharp corners off my nails. Then I applied a springy yellow-green, like the earliest buds, and sat still until the polish dried, after which I did a bit of shaping. It’s not launching my first satellite, but being able to take care of myself again beats the alternative all to hell.
Related: if your dude comes home and finds you polishing your toenails with a color he does not love, remind him that he won’t care when he’s wearing your thighs like ear muffs.
Last week, I was waiting for the bathroom to warm up and staring out the window at the chicken coop, where one hen was scratching outside of bounds. At first, the sight was a little confusing. I wasn’t sure what that girl was doing, though I could see her and was sure I shouldn’t be able to because I don’t actually have xray vision and can’t see through chicken coops. The people of the chickens say there’s one who shouts, “PAPILLON!” and goes over the wall all the time, so: okay. Then I took a shower. It was a good and thorough shower in which I lathered my entire epidermis, later slathering it with moisturizing goo, making me feel rather well. Then I looked out the window again and discovered two more chickens going on the lam.
I called my sister Anya.
Anya: Hey! What’s up? That thing you said on Facebook was SO FUNNY when pronounced in the original Middle English!
Anya: The three-part harmony was very niiiice, not to mention the day-glo tulips -
Tata: I have to tell you a thing.
Anya: You do?
Tata: I do. It is this: the chickens are loose.
Anya: Is that code for something?
Tata: No. The chickens are actually loose.
Anya: By that, do you mean they are badly assembled?
Tata: Nope. You know your friend I don’t speak to? Call her and tell her her chickens are loose and making a break for it. You might want to hurry.
About five minutes later, She Who Is Not the Boss Of Me ran down her back steps and wrangled some hens, while I returned to my cramped schedule of smelling great and admiring my luminous, soft skin. Because I am so awesome.
My sister Daria foolishly agreed to acquire props for her son Tyler Too’s junior high school production of The Wizard of Oz, though I rejoiced at the idea of a shopping list that included Nerf apples and flying monkey wings. She’s been calling me three times a day for the last week because I’m so creative.
Daria: I need one of those oil cans for the Tin Man. The hardware store didn’t have one. Where do I go?
Tata: You live across the highway from a Home Depot. Have you looked there?
Daria: No dice.
Tata: What? Not for nothing, but it’d be a hoot if Dot pulled out two cans of Pam and asked, “Regular or olive oil?”
Tata: Oz wasn’t supposed to be long ago and far away. It was supposed to be contemporary and recognizable. Point a can of WD40 at your rust bucket and the audience will go crazy.
Daria: The director said no to the WD40 but the costume committee texted me to pick up 8 masks, one with fur.
Tata: No. Not until the kids turn 18. What’s wrong with those adults?
Daria: For one thing, I’m not on the costume committee. Do they still make those things you stick in oil cans? Where would I get one?
Tata: Sure, any Auto Zone will have that.
Daria: Someone on Facebook suggested I get a big can of Foster’s. I could stick that nozzle in a Foster’s can, right?
Tata: Absolutely. I can’t help you shop, but if you need someone to drink the beer, I’m your girl.
My right hand feels twingy. Get your mind out of the gutter, gumdrop: I’m left-handed. Anyway, I needed a new way to knit that lets me rest one hand and a big-ass challenge. Can it be done? Can I do it?
We shall see!
We bought furniture. Speaking of things you didn’t see coming, you must watch this all the way to the end.