Confession Time: I'm a Late Bloomer

I'll readily admit that I didn't become a girly girl until I was an adult in my early twenties. I wore my tomboy badge with pride.  Heck, I can still climb trees--a fact I'm enormously proud of.

My hand model sister is, of course, filled with information about keeping one's hands soft and having presentable nails. SIGH.  I'm still learning.  I must admit I find it quicker to just plunge my hands in the dishwater and take care of business rather than fish for the canary-yellow plastic gloves to protect my digits. Who has time for that?

Check out our conversations over the years concerning my lack of attention to my nails:

My early teen years:
Sis:  UGH. Stop biting your nails.
Me: I have to. I keep scratching myself.
Sis:  Use the nail clipper.
Me:  I did.
Sis:  Is that blood on your finger?
Me: Yeah. Oh hey, did you know my blood tastes like copper or something? Taste this and see if it tastes the same to you.
Sis:  MOM!!

When I was a high school senior:
Sis:  OUCH! Stop spitting your nails at me. You caught me in the eye.
Me: Sorry. I wasn't really trying to.
Sis:  Let me polish your nails.
Me: That stuff tastes nasty.
Sis:  You aren't supposed to taste it.
Me:  But it's on my nails.
Sis:  <Slaps a hand to her forehead and walks off>

My college years:
Sis:  Look at you!  Your nails are actually a color.A pale, really pale, pink but still...
Me:  Yep. Hey, did you know polish come in enough shades that I can match my nails to whatever color I'm wearing?
Sis:  Um, you might not always want to do that.

A few days ago...
Me:  Did you get the photo I sent?
Sis:  The one with you and your gold metallic nails?
Me:  Yep. Cute, right?
Sis:  You go, girl!!

At some point during college, I did stop biting my nails. I'll never be the hand model Sis is, but I do enjoy a manicure as much as the next girly girl.