[no news on job front. sigh.]
While biking into work this morning, I thought about pedicures and truth. As I've mentioned, I have nasty toenails. During the warm months (from April through November), I wear fake toenails. It helps to be able to wear flashy heels and sandals and not get sidelong glances from polite adults. Kids just bend down and say, "You have really gross toes!!" Who has time to bother with all that? (yet has time to give herself a pedicure. ha!)
Which made me think about what it would be like if I had a kid someday who was anything like me. That kid would go around all day with me proclaiming that my toenails were fake.
My poor mother.
When I was little, the truth was VERY important to me. If someone thanked me or complimented me, but my brother or sister had done the good thing, I had to give credit where credit was due. Which meant that every time I was out with my Mom and someone complimented her on her thick, long, reddish hair, I'd pipe up, "It's dyed." I liked that they thought she was pretty, I did, too. I just didn't want her getting credit for something that wasn't true.