Why I chose the pink polish

I got my nails done  for a video today (Hopefully you can catch it very soon on TPT Rewire. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to share it! )

That’s the second time I’ve had my nails done. Ever. The first time was when I flew to Denver to film my Craftsy class, “Getting Started with Upholstery.” The producer naturally asked me to get a manicure and I froze. Uhhhhhhhhh. . .

Like most upholsterers, my hands are . . .  a mess. I wasn’t exactly excited to flash them around a beauty salon. Mr. DeMille, I am NOT ready for my close-up. But HELLO! I wanted to teach the class, so I sheepishly sought out a manicure. MANicure. As in, “Can you just clean this mess up? Clear polish? Whatever?” And off to Denver merrily I went.


Now two years later, I’m getting my second manicure. Decisions, decisions.

I could do the clear polish again. Maybe step it up with a beige or white. Try not to draw any attention to the sad state of my hands.


But you know . . . These hands have done a lot for me. They work HARD. They’ve mastered all kinds of amazing things: they can sew double welt, and tie clove hitch knots. They’re strong enough to tension springs and dexterous enough to hand stitch fabric. Truly, they’ve put up with more than is fair. I’ve hammered them. And stapled them. Once I sewed over them. I’ve stuck them in hot glue, and dropped furniture on top of them. In all likelihood, my hands will someday pay dearly for everything I’ve decided to do with them.



These hands have fed my family. Literally. . . And figuratively.

They’re amazing.

And what kind of message do I send by hiding them?

“Ummmm, thanks and all, but can you not embarrass me? I mean, I hope no one sees us together!!”

I should be dressing these babies up, and taking them out.

“Thanks for working so hard!!! You’re the best!!!! Do you want to split an order of truffle fries?? LOOK EVERYONE! THESE TWO ARE WITH ME!!!! “

I’m proud of everything my hands know how to do. SO PROUD. But it means my nails are short, or nonexistent. It means I’m often sporting a bandaid (or several) It means my hands are usually dirty. Or sticky. Or dry. Or covered in fuzz.



It means my hands are beautiful.

So THIS time, when I walked into the salon, I didn’t ask for a MANicure. I didn’t wilt when the instructor sort of hesitated and kindly offered, “Oh, well my nails are a mess, too!” (My talented cousin is going to school for cosmetology, I knew she’d do a rockin’ job!)

Instead, I grabbed the basket of polish and dug past the clear, beige and white. I pulled out all the purples and blues, and finally slapped a deep pink down on the counter. Hook me up.


So whatever. My future as a hand model is decidedly grim. And that’s cool. Because I have things to do and things to make and things to fix and things to break. And I’m super lucky that these hands are willing to help.


Let’s go see about those truffle fries.

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