The Alternative Is Dating Gargamel

I’m having a colourful day. Not colourful as in swearing a lot, or even colourful as in the apartment is filled with rainbows but it might as well be.

I got up this morning and painted my nails a bright and alluring red. When Roscoe got up his first words were “What happened to your hands?”

Although it is out of the ordinary for me to paint my nails (and my toes nails too), what he was referring to was the way I chose to decorate them. In theory you’re supposed to use the edges of your nails as a point for where to stop painting but that’s only a guideline. A suggestion really. You could paint all the way up your arms and across your clavicle if you wanted, the only limiting factor there is the size of those darn bottles. Why do they make them so small? It’s like OPI doesn’t want me to have any fun, ever.

Although I hadn’t painted all the way up my arms, I hadn’t quite respected the nail bed boundary idea so it looked like I had spent the morning in an abattoir. “Uaaah” Roscoe recoiled from my gruesome hands.

“Don’t worry” I assured him. “They’re dry, this should stay on for a couple hours at least” I said while waggling my gory fingers at him.

In Canada it’s a holiday today so Roscoe was determined to take me out to the movies. However I had a number of chores I wanted to finish up before we left. Primarily I wanted to revitalize a sweater of mine by dying it teal. I was all set up in the bathroom, with my big plastic bucket, my sweater and most importantly the dye which was such a vibrant colour that I wanted to be a part of it. Unfortunately Roscoe caught me right as I was about to plunge my hands into the deep swirling blue, thereby cutting my mischief off at the pass. And preventing yet another violet-bathroom, purple-foot incident. “What are you doing?”

“Dying? My? Shirt?” I answered as innocently as one who is about to dye her forearms deep blue can.

“No. Absolutely not, I’m not going out with a Smurf.”

I hesitated, holding my arms a safe distance above the bucket of dye. “”Well technically I would only be part Smurf, not even an eighth, like a Smurf twice removed.”

Roscoe was not smiling. This is why I get up at five am, so that all of my tomfoolery is complete long before my husband wakes up.  Because it’s harder to argue with things that have already happened. There’s only so much you can do when you awaken, rub your eyes and realize there’s a wild turkey perched on the chest of drawers. “Why is there a bird in the bedroom? And I did not agree to this wallpaper!”

Gargamel and his cat Azrael.

No one wants to hit that. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“It could be worse.”I said, still holding my hands within dipping distance of the dye. “I could look like the Smurf villain and then everyone would be staring at you wondering why you want to date a hunched, balding, old man.”

“Put on some gloves” he commanded before turning on his heel while shaking his head.

I suppose I’m just going to have to settle for bright red nails, hands and feet. I’ll wear my teal sweater tomorrow.

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5 thoughts on “The Alternative Is Dating Gargamel

    • I have a confession to make. I have no pictures of my wedding anniversaries . I don’t take photos. That’s a lie. I do take photos sometimes and I frame those reddish orangeish blurs with pride and put them on my wall. And then people come over and say “I didn’t know you were into modern art?”

  1. I looked up “abattoir,” as I didn’t know that word. Apparently, the Merriam-Webster online dictionary is kind enough to offer rhyming words, should you be a middle school poet.

    acinar, air guitar, Aligarh, aide-mémoire, arctic char, au revoir, avatar, blazing star, bolivar, Bolívar, brittle star, bumper car…

    Air guitar? Bumper car? OH. MY. WORD. Your post was hilarious to begin with. Throwing this in was the icing on the cake.

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