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Girl's Night In: Why You Should Never Let Me Paint Your Nails

Since it is apparent that my pants may be removed in some sort of sexual way in the near future and because I wanted an excuse to laze around the house, I'm primping. The toes pictured may appear to be jointless, plastic toes, but in fact, they are my own left toes, which I assure you are jointed and made of real live blood vessels and cartilage and sinew and muscles and bones and schtuff. For my left toes, this is pretty decent work. My right toes are marginally better. (I swear I took like 30 pictures of my left toes and if anything was visible at all, my toes look jointless. Seriously, you guys, my toes have joints.)


These are the good fingers. They're actually pretty ok. I did magnetic nail polish with glitter polish over it in the same color as my toes (on which I did not waste the effort for magnetic polish.) And look, my middle finger totally has a joint. I'm currently alcohol-free so I can't blame this on drunkenness; I just have the manual dexterity of a 1-fingered ferret.

I shaved my legs. I'm having a Ripper Street marathon. I'm painting my nails with the knowledge that the earliest that they will be seen by someone other than me will be tomorrow night, by which point I can peel off the mess. And I can't go to bed until I'm sure that they're reeeeeeally dry.

I'll really never be good at this lady thing.

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