One Hot, Pretty Mess

Hot Pretty Mess Do the kids still use that expression, “hot mess”? I’m old now, you see, and prone to muttering about how everyone under the age of, oh, 25 needs to get off my damn lawn and pull up their pants (not necessarily in that order; in fact, if they could take care of the pants thing first, that’d be super.) As such, I have no idea what phrase the hip, young people might utter to express that which is busted beyond all recognition. “Busted” actually seems like a pretty good compromise in this world in which I can’t understand 85 percent of what kids are saying (seriously, can someone please explain to me what a “bae” is why it makes me supremely uncomfortable to hear a 12-year-old boy call someone that?) Harumph! Now if you’ll pardon me, I’ll be over here ironing my support hose and watching taped reruns of 60 Minutes.

This discussion is somewhat moot, however – that’s how you can tell I’m old; I just used the word “moot” – because these nails are not a hot mess, nor are they busted, just messy in concept. Because they’re pretty, sure – all those coral reef-type colours together are gorgeous! – but I have no idea what this manicure is or how it came to be. I just sat down with a bunch of polishes and a detail brush and went to town, and this is what came out the other side. So they’re messy in that regard, even if they’re otherwise pretty tasty looking (literally; I was visiting with a friend today and her baby boy would have liked it very much if I had let him chew on them. I took it as a compliment, because I also like it when my nails look like candy!)


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