90 Seconds . . . | |
| by Shelli Centra | |
| I've seen the commercial dozens of times, and I have to admit it, after a while, it sounded almost possible. "Have fabulous nails in only 90 seconds!" Ninety seconds! Imagine! On my next trek through Wal-Mart, I pushed my cart through the cosmetics aisles--only looking, of course. My nails hadn't seen polish since Ben was born six years earlier. They had some nice colors . . . Mocha Toast would look nice, even with jeans and a T-shirt. I picked up the bottle and tossed it in the cart, thinking "I suppose my kids could leave me alone for 90 seconds." Now that I had the bottle of polish, all I needed was the 90 seconds. Obviously, with after-school snacks, getting dinner ready, supervising homework and baths, reading bedtime stories and kissing goodnight, it wasn't going to happen while the kids were awake. After they were asleep, I did my Mrs. Clean routine, and by the time the toys were back in their places and the dessert dishes cleaned up, the coffee pot ready for the morning and the clothes ironed for the next day, I was too tired to even think about doing my nails. The next day was more of the same. With Ben off to another exciting day in first grade, Jake and I did our usual round of errands and chores. When he finally went in for his nap, I had to get out the calculator and the check book and pay the bills. Maybe if I write fast, I can squeeze in a few minutes for my nails . . . Since the calculator was out, I took a reality check: 10 fingernails at 90 seconds each, that's 900 seconds. Fifteen minutes. The next thing I knew Jake was back downstairs. Determined now to prove that I could find 15 minutes in my day for a little selfish pleasure, I devised a plan. When Ben came home from school, I set both boys up with a snack in front of the TV. After refereeing the fight about what to watch, and making sure everyone had enough to eat, I sat down with my bottle and began brushing the polish on. One whole hand finished, and it looked so pretty! As I was finishing my last nail, thinking "only 90 seconds to go," Jake came running in the room with the desperation of a newly-trained 3 year old: "I gotta pee! I gotta pee!" And he's wearing jeans, complete with snap and zipper. He made it in time. But my nails were a disaster. Oh, well, I should have known better. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I'll get my husband to watch them for 15 minutes. He should be able to go 15 minutes without bothering me. . . . right? | |
