The Shrug that Shattered Tokyo

My wife (BOW DOWN! HER WHAMMINESS IS INCOMPARABLE AND AWESOME!) has an extensive collection of nail polishes, and some of the names of these colors plague my waking moments. There is a color known as "After Sex"--this is red. "Beach Party"--this is not the color of sand. Actually, i gotta tell ya: this reminds me of the sand in the hourglass of Father Time, not the grains upon which i tread barefoot and happy-like at Seaside Heights, N.J. Father Time is a powerful deity with an agitated triggerfinger, not the type who would gleefully splatter his image upon billboards and obnoxious full-page advertisements in Jane magazine for the purpose of product placement. So...yeah. i'm befuddled. People are earning salaries for devising these enigmatic designations for their nail polishes and they are all laughing at our expense. It's a disturbing guffaw, akin to the deadly chuckle of Batman's El Numero Uno Adversary, the Joker, whenever the Clown Prince of Crime would fricasee a hapless victim with a joy buzzer. i always preferred the Riddler, myself. We are both crossword puzzle fiends.

I don't like this business of naming nail polishes. No good will come of this...starts with nail polishes, mutates into a tyrannical grip upon the population,trying to compel us to buy ketchup when we don't need it and to pretend like the people who appear on MTV's "The Real World" really arejust like the rest of us.

My wife has just said, "You're still writing about nail polish?!" as she polishes off one of my discarded crossword puzzles. i work on them in pen, and when an abundance of unacceptable errors has occurred, i draw a diagonal line through the puzzle, signifying its tragic demise. i don't like when that happens but i am resigned to my own mortality and the evanessence of existence's sundry distractions, as well; therefore, i don't hesitate to walk away when i feel that the magic has evaporated.

sayonara, chickpeas.