I warned him. I did. I said, "If you do it one more time, I'm totally blogging about it. And telling everyone you wanted your fingernail painted."
Well, he did it one more time. And here I am blogging about it.
I've developed wonderfully long and strong fingernails as of late. Keeping your fingers out of your mouth will do wonder for your cuticles and nail beds! For days I've been considering what color to paint my freshly-grown claws. Red? Nah, too much. Pink? Eh. Days have passed. But last night I chose a good, solid coat of, well, clear. It suits all preferences.
As I painted the polish along the length of my nails, The Fiance peered on in amazement.
"They look nice," he uttered.
By the time I was finished, he was holding my freshly painted fingers up to his face, doing what I thought was admiring my work. I smiled as he continued to stare at the freshly manicured hand. And then he admitted it wasn't the gleam of my fingernails that intrigued him.
"I love the smell of nail polish."
He continued to inhale (deeply) the scent of Sally Hansen's Clear Coat until I whacked the back of his head just before I was convinced he was going to lapse into a coma.
"No, come on! I like it!"
For the next minute I continued to bat away his hands as they grabbed for mine. This was a desperate man, people. The nail polish stench was causing him to lose brain cells right before my eyes. There was a lot of hand-slapping and scolding. He finally subsided, a defeated man. And then asked, ever-so-politely:
"Will you paint my pinky fingernail?"
And, OK, I will admit that I am the moron here. I'm so sure I'm going to say no to such a sincere request. I honestly believed perhaps he was simply in awe of the effect clear nail polish had on rugged nails. So, sure enough, I applied a fresh coat to his left pinky nail.
He stared, fascinated at the appearance of this now-shining fingernail. Before I had the chance to say, "I'm pretty sure that was the stupidest thing I've ever done in my entire life. And it's been a long life, by the way," he had that pinky up to his flared nostrils so fast I couldn't even blink.
Sniffffffffffff. Snnniff. Sniiiiiiffffffffffffffffffffff.
I squealed in horror, much in the same way I would if Harley attempted to eat Chicken's face in one fell swoop.
But it was too late. He was going at it like a fiend. He was a man possessed. By the scent of my nail polish. Finally I was able to pry his hand away from his face long enough to threaten a blog. And before he had a chance to ponder the consequences of this post, he was back at it. And I was left with no choice. And he was left with fewer brain cells. And overall, no one is better off following this chain of events.
Before long, I convinced him to remove the polish from his fingernail. Everyone came away unharmed. But I'm totally locking up my nail polish.