Day 272: the value of a manicure.

I have had a couple of days of intense writing at work, and a lot of other stuff too to occupy my mind, and as such I am feeling a little brain drained. To balance out the brain work, a little vacuous moron time has been required. So this evening, after yoga, I watched The City (the not quite reality TV show about pretty, air-headed fashionistas making their way in New York) followed by Australia's Next Top Model (displaying frequent deliciously entertaining examples of spectacular denseness). And now I'm going to tell you about my very special manicure, which I had done on Sunday and is still going strong. The shade is a fantastic, 50s, tomato red. I have very short (due to intermittent biting) and quite tiny fingernails (no one knows why). Because of this I have very seldom thought it appropriate to get my fingernails done (they're more excuses for fingernails than things you parade around proudly in bright colours). However, having been persuaded (quite easily) to go the manicure route by my very good friend Kristie, I am now a total convert. My nails look hot. The shortness is perfect, the shininess is dazzling and the colour is chic. At least that's what I think. And any time I paused from my fevered keyboard tapping over the last couple of days and saw my happy, red nails smiling up at me, it gave me a little fascinated rush of meaningless joy. That, my friends, is the value of a good manicure.