If you had to guess, would you think I was a nail polish kind of person? Nope, not a bit. Of course I've tried it, what ten year old girl hasn't? I don't like the way it makes my nails feel like they can't breathe. I don't like the way little bits of it chip off, possibly into the bread dough you are kneading. I don't like the way it takes time to put on, dry, and then remove a few days later when it starts to chip.
Nope, I'm not a nail polish person. Nor are my sisters, and my mom never used it either. Imagine my surprise to find that she now wears pink nail polish. At first I was outraged. How can they take a very forgetful lady who can't even see, and paint her nails pink? She didn't look like my mom anymore. I wanted to cry and shout about how wrong it was.
It made it hard to trim her nails - where was I supposed to trim? It looked sloppy when it started chipping off. But then I realized something. I can't be with her all the time. She thrives on attention. While having her nails painted, someone is holding her hand and talking to her. Someone cares enough to ask what color of polish she would like, and then carefully paints it on each nail.
So what if Mom never wore nail polish? She doesn't knead bread anymore. She's 88 years old, and a lady of leisure. If someone is willing to take the time to paint her nails, I'm thankful they are there to care for her.
My condolences to Daisy, who has been going through the same sort of situations with her mom, who has just passed on. Either way it's heartbreaking.