Wednesday, February 2, 2011

in which I consider writing a post of Substance but talk about nail polish instead

My nail polish is Chanel no. 505, Particuliere.  I discovered it at one o'clock in the morning on the hands of the girl sitting next to me at the Hemingway Bar in Paris.  She was young and drunk and charming and in the process of ordering drinks for her beautifully morose male companion when MHM and I came in for post-dinner champagne and sat next to her.  MHM was busy talking to the bartender about helicopters when she tapped me on the shoulder to offer me a nut, and then stuck her fingers in my mouth.  It is a testament to the atmosphere that this did not seem at all odd (her glowering frenchman just continued to stare moodily into his cocktail) and MHM responded by staring at her nails and saying "good god, I LOVE that color!" She told us what it was and then we all sang Piano Man with the drunk English businessmen to MHM's other side, much to the disapproval of the African diplomats in the back room.

I've been carrying the bottle with me for two months now.  I finally put it on yesterday and immediately fucked it all up trying to mail a package.  But now it is fixed and beautiful, and I am sitting here typing until it dries.

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