Acting Manly

Yesterday was the Pontiac race. A good course and a fairly big local race. I opted out, not because my result was predetermined (take the number of racers, divide by two, round down) but because I just wanted to enjoy riding this weekend at 129 BPM. And it was an excellent weekend of riding. But I feel a mild pang of guilt for not racing.

Today Allie and I set out to get crackle top coat nail polish. Crackle applied over a base coat makes an interesting design, like lacquer checking on a classic car painted by an incompetent painter. Apparently crackle is popular because the first few stores we went to were sold out. We finally found it at Justice. I sat down on a bench in front of the store.

Me: "Why don't I put the base coat on now so when we get home I can put on the crackle?" The truth is I wanted to ride and if I didn't have to wait for her nails to dry, I could.

Allie: "Right here? No Dad, that's not normal."

Me: "I always do your nails. And when have I tried to be normal?"

Allie, whispering in case anyone was listening: "But it's not... manly."

Me, whispering back: "What if I put it on in the car?"

Allie: "I guess that would be OK."

But the final product didn't look good. Allie took it off and we tried again, this time applying just a thin layer of crackle. No, it didn't look right either. Another try, this time only doing the tips with crackle. Still not the look she was after.

Finally Allie suggested we just do her nails in White and she sketched out some type of African print on a paper plate which I copied onto her nails. Brilliant.

By then it was dark out, which is fine; there will be plenty of time to ride when Allie no longer wants me to do her nails.