Ella's Spa

My girlie is so funny.

She loves to give me back massages, and recently she wanted to create her own home SPA and paint my fingernails.

With a teeny bit of reluctance I agreed to an "appointment."

So, she got her markers and whipped up a sign:

It couldn't just be "Ella's Spa."  No.  That doesn't sound chic enough.  It had to be "Le Ella's Spa," and it had to be pronounced "LEE ELLAAAA SPAAA."

She stuck that thing to the bathroom door with a piece of green painter's tape because that's the only freaking tape left in the house, because kids LOVE tape and if a roll of tape comes into the house, it's better than any toy or present, and they use that tape until it is GONE.

Ahem.

Okay, so let's THINK about this.  The KID is going to paint my nails.

The super clumsy kid.

I chose the palest, barely-a-hint-of-colour nail polish

because I  am not a total idiot.

We sat at the kitchen table, and I put my hand on a magazine.

I was wicked tired from working out, getting the kids to and from school, doing dishes, doing laundry, putting out the trash because The Man was away on business, making dinner, making snacks, etc, etc, etc, so actually, it was very soothing in Le Ella's Spa.

I didn't even care that kids basically STINK at painting nails, and she was slapping that stuff on with abandon:  dripping it everywhere, and basically coating the tips of my FINGERS.

Meh.  Whatever.

Whoo! That was boring.