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Coffee Break with Liz and Kate » Headline, » click here was really hoping to jump right into Fourth of July preparations today, seeings how the celebrating America’s independence is right up there with Christmas as far as I’m concerned. But the festivities will have to wait. Because I – or should I say, my son – apparently has issues with finger nail polish where all things “mom” are concerned. It’s the darndest thing, I tell ya.

My first hint that something was wrong came a few nights ago, when I came out of Hannah’s room with her basket of 847 bottles of nail polish, to see if somewhere in the mix there might possibly be a bottle of bright red (the perfect color for the 4th of July).

“What are you doing, Mom?”

“I’m going to paint my nails. Do you mind?”

“Yes. Don’t paint your nails. You’re perfect just like you are.”

Oh is that right? I thought.

“So what’s up with that? Why do you have issues with me painting my nails? Hannah paints her nails.”

“Yes, but I’ve known her all my life and she’s always painted her nails.”

“You’ve known me all your life, too, knucklehead.”

“Well that’s different.”

Why we continued this discussion was beyond me – I know better than to reason with the unreasonable :-). So I dropped it.

Enter yesterday’s trip to the store. Colton was helping me get everything out of the cart and on to the self-checkout, when all of a sudden his whole demeanor changed.

“What is your problem, son?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” he said, with his face looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

Once we got to the car, he dispensed with his usually helpful attitude and hopped straight in, never saying a word. Until I got in and started the car.

“Is that fingernail polish for Hannah?”

“Nope. It’s mine. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Mom, I told you I didn’t want you to paint your nails.”

Here we go again, I thought.

I spent a  good five minutes trying to figure out what his issue was. Was he attacked by a giant display of nail polish in another life? Had someone with painted nails been mean to him? Is he allergic to the smell of fresh polish? Am a raising a MALE CHAUVINIST PIG?!?!?!

I mentioned all the women we know who paint their nails – especially women in the family.

“Even Nan paints her nails?” he asked looking like he’d just lost his best friend.

“Yes, even Nan. So look here, mister. You’re gonna have to come up with some solid reasoning if you want me to even consider your request.

“Look at it this way, Mom. I don’t mind that you wear earrings.”

“You’re darn right, you don’t mind. And I have half a mind to go buy a pair the size of basketballs, just because I can. You don’t make these decisions.”

Stumped for any  rhyme or reason for his hatred of me with red nails – or any other color, for that matter – I once again dropped the whole discussion, at least where he was concerned. Now, I’m on my own quest to find out what possible reasons he could have for the anti-nail polish stance, and I don’t care who I have to consult.

“Oh, and Mom, don’t tell anyone I said that about you painting your nails, OK?”

“OK, Colton. I wont say a word…”

At least not until this bright red nail polish dries…


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