Cherries in the Snow

This morning, I painted my toenails before we left for brunch. I usually go for purple or blue toes, so it made sense when Kevin looked down at them and said,

"Hmmm. What color is that? That's not your color."

No, it isn't. It's my daddy's color. His favorite, or at least one he asked me to wear once. So on Father's Day, every year, I make sure that I'm wearing it.

It's a rich, bright pink, and I think maybe my mom wears it too. If not the exact color, she usually chooses one very similar. It looks great on her toes.

In fact, I remember when she was in a coma and the week afterwards, I was assigned the task of massaging her feet and lower legs. She was bloated and weak and struggling just to survive at this point. Taking on my duty, I lifted the covers at the end of her bed and saw the most perfectly manicured toes. Her feet were still beautiful, and I'm fairly certain she was wearing "Cherries in the Snow," the same polish I put on this morning.

We both wear it because he likes it.

All while I was growing up, I felt like I couldn't do enough to please him. My grades were always a little too low. My clothes were never quite right. I didn't think I would ever measure up.

Funny. Now that I'm all grown up, I know that all it takes to make my daddy happy is something as simple as bright pink toenails.

If you look closely at my fourth toe on my left foot, you'll see that it is completely bruised. I did this by twisting it in between two tiles on our bathroom floor. A grout injury, if you will. And my husband says I'm not graceful. Hmph.