I have never really told anyone about this. But then last week my fellow-blogger friend C outed herself on her blog, and, well, I realised that I've been aching to get this off my chest for 30 years.
|Nails are meant to be pink. The pinker the better.|
It was ridiculous. Completely unwearable - not only because it was hideous, but because of how I'd acquired it.
Frosted white nail polish. Hideous. Even by 1985 standards. I didn't even want it. I frequently wore nail polish, but only in the shades between petal pink and bubblegum.
I really didn't see the point of white nail polish. Not even nude. It was just an ugly pearl white. It would have been matronly if it wasn't so insipid.
I'd like to say I don't know why I did it, but I know it was the only time I ever truly succumbed to peer pressure. It was a risk in a town where EVERYONE knew The Mum, where everyone knew I was a good church-going God-fearing girl. In a drug store where every teenager was a suspect to be followed, and not all that surreptitiously.
But the girl who'd been my best friend was swiftly becoming best friends with the cool, clever, edgy new girl, who somehow managed to get good grades while being totally devoid of a moral compass.
They said it was fun to shoplift. It wasn't. I thought it would fix our friendship. It didn't.
Somehow we didn't get caught. Somehow I held onto that ugly, unwearable nail polish for years. Somehow a few years later I couldn't imagine why trying to cling to friends who didn't want me mattered so much that I'd abandon my own integrity.
I got away with it. It wasn't worth it.
Scintilla Prompt 6:
Talk about a time when you got away with it.