Living with girls

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Saturday night I got a great idea (which is usually associated with an explosion or catastrophe of some sort). I picked out my favorite shoes to wear the next morning to church and then realized a pedicure was in order.

It was only 10:30 p.m., and I was a bit wired from work, so I figured I could give myself a good old fashion toenail painting.

I started looking for a pretty nail polish. I found several bottles but most were either empty or dried up. I have three young ladies in this home who love nail polish. I knew on more than one occasion I have come home from work and thought the house smelled like a nail salon, but I didn’t realize they had used all the polish I had stashed under my bed and in secret drawers.

Yep, they apparently have found all my hiding places. Thankfully, I have managed to keep the chocolate stash sacred.

The only color in abundance was navy blue left over from the Independence Day/Braves Game. Navy didn’t match my shoes.

I finally found what I thought would be enough of a light turquoise – I know, not what you were expecting. To make a long sticky story bearable, I got about three toes done and realized it wasn’t going to hold out for the remaining seven.

I tried my best to stretch it, but after three layers of top coat and an hour and a half drying time I was exhausted, had the ugliest lumpy toenails and had just about decided my favorite shoes would be replaced with closed toe flats I wear most of the time.

Nail Fail.

I attribute this small calamity to the other women in this house. I was not mad at them, it’s just part of living with girls. We outnumber the males four to one most of the time and seven to two if you count the two cats, dog and one son who is here only to sleep.

But, let’s face it, there are definite perks to having a house full of girls.

You don’t necessarily need mirrors to help you see your entire back side. Girls will tell you if your hair is messed up or your skirt is tucked in where it shouldn’t be.

Girls are honest about whether something makes you look slimmer or if you are looking more like the Michelin Man.

I’m not about to get into a discussion about boys verses girls in anything other than this: girls pay attention to little things that mean a lot.

Here is a prime example. I have a beautiful, elegant, well dressed friend who years ago came into church on Sunday morning wearing what was obviously a new sweater.

The price tag was still attached and hanging out the back.

I was sitting in the balcony and could not gently tuck it in as I could have done if I had been right there in a row behind. I couldn’t even nonchalantly walk over and give her a hug and fix the problem. I was stuck in the balcony as she was opening her hymnal.

I just stood there shaking my head with deep sorrow, knowing that her last girl had just recently left the nest.

I prayed right then and there if God wanted to humble me, I would live with it, but if it was his will for my life, I would prefer having a girl or two around  – at least until I’m too old to care.

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