I am writing again for the Mudroom. I really love that space, and if you are thinking about contributing somewhere I can’t reccomend it highly enough. The theme we are accepting for is authenticity and coming out of hiding.
My nails were wet and half finished when I started ugly crying for seemingly no reason. The poor man who was painting them simply asked me if there was anything he could do. There wasn’t really. This wasn’t about the manicure. It was just that his chair was the first place I had sat down long enough for my feelings to catch up with me.
I had ended up in this poor man’s chair because I had a weird two hours to myself. I live too far from the school I work at to go home between the last final and the graduation ceremony. By the time I got my grade book done it was closer to dinner then lunch, so I decided to wait on the eating and instead get my nails done.
I was getting things squared away with my sister as far as babysitting was concerned. While I was in the chair I was not still. I was clumsily answering my phone until the details and my nails were squared away and all there was for me to do was sit.