Racy Stacy Nail Polish. No, REALLY. :-D

Okay.
I’m pretty sure I cleared pink – of all kinds – out of my wardrobe at the age of twelve and, other than a rose-quartz pendant given to me by a well-meaning cousin and a three-or-four month long spate, in fourth year university (of all things), when I just desperately craved baby-pink eye shadow (which I still have, almost never use, and yet felt so much better due to buying… I don’t understand it), have never really allowed it back in except on sufferance (e.g.: the black courduroy skirt (alas, no-longer mine) with the swirling wine embroidery? Also involved dusty rose).

Until now.

It all started with a tank top.

My mother – in a fit of craftiness (and fear of getting bored once retired) – asked me to go to her church’s garage sale (like a bazaar, but in Summer) and grab *every* bright, sold-colour t-shirt I could find because she wanted to turn them into kids’ play-clothes.

So (dutiful daughter that I am?) off I went.

I found about a zillion pastel pink and pastel (mint?) green golf shirts, as well as a couple of ones with horizontal stripes and a whole bunch in dark green with little tiny logos on that could be easily avoided in the recycled-clothing process.

And, while I was there, I found a couple of tops for myself. A turquoise rutched halter-neck (tie-back) top, a rutched v-neck t-shirt in a really nice deep blue, and this: A pink on pink striped tank top that looked for all the world like a berry dessert. Like strawberry ice cream with raspberry coulis drizzled over it.

At first, I thought it would make a cute dress on a toddler.
And then I thought it would suit my friend, Luna, to a T.
And then… Then I realized that I wanted the pink on pink striped tank top.
Me.
MINE.

And so I got myself the berry-tastic tank top and that was the beginning.

Now, I haven’t gone very far in the direction of embracing pink. I’m a pasty-assed white girl and, my dears, pastels are not my friend. (Frankly, I’m fairly certain they aren’t anybody’s friend, but I could be wrong. I have run into a few folks who can definitely rock sunshine yellow, so clearly they work for somebody).

But I have acquired a rose-pink halter-neck top (that is frequently accidentally revealing, so I have to be careful where I wear it) a couple of nail polishes – one a rich raspberry that, here-to-for was about as close to “pink” as I got, and the other (which I picked up today, in celebration of the fact that I will still be employed as of next week) is this wild kind of magenta colour with enough of a purplish sheen to it that I knew it would work with my skin tone. It’s one of Sally Hanson’s million billion types of nail polish and, much to my dismay, it doesn’t even come with a fantastic nail polish name (which is half the fun of nail polish, I think, but I’m weird like that). It *looks* like it should have a name like “Racy Stacy” or “Madame Magenta” or something like that. Y’know?
For now, I’m opting for “Racy Stacy”.

One hand painted. :-)
One to go. :-)


- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)