Torrid
"Torrid?", I say to him. His eyes question mine. I shrug. I look back. I repeat it. "Hmmm- Torrid....", I almost whisper.
I am absolutely enchanted. The shimmering burgundy. The deep purple. It reminds me of blood. It reminds me of red velvet. I turn it in my hands. I never go this dark. But I am absolutely enchanted by the chocolately texture inside this bottle. He stares at me, and sighs. He looks at the bottle not seeing the significance in it. He can not understand how I can be so enraptured by something so miniscule. I toss it in. I get it.
At home, I stuggle with the color. It is too dark. It is too unlike me. I am a red girl. With the occasional hot pink. But I have always been a red girl. Just like any sex siren. I love red lips and red nails. They make me feel powerful, sexy, uninhibited, and very much the vixen. I pull it off, too. I have so many different reds. Every girl should find the red for her! So, I look at my purplish, almost black nails. They look infected almost. I shake the bottle, I wiggle my toes. I am waiting for the color to dry. To not look so sinister. But it remains. I debate removing it completely and starting over with a summery color. I sit there. Sigh deeply. I mutter the name.
Torrid.
tor·rid (tôrd, tr-)
adj. tor·rid·er, tor·rid·est
1. Parched with the heat of the sun; intensely hot.
2. Scorching; burning: the torrid noonday sun.
3. Passionate; ardent: a torrid love scene.
4. Hurried; rapid: set a torrid pace; torrid economic growth.
Well, that gives it a little more purpose. It is a dark color. Almost gothic. Edgy without being too blasse. I am growing to like it. It is like red. It makes me feel sexy. But in a dark, serious way. As though I were afflicted by some great unknowable pain deep in the very existense of me. I feel more sassy. More alive. I feel like I am actually finally starting my life. Like I removed every awful thing from my life with the nail polish remover, and started off new with my shiny Torrid nails.
The move, my birthday, getting ready to leave Gabe with my XH, and leaving the military. It's all wrapped up in that color.
Torrid.
I am torrid. I feel torrid. No wonder I gravitated towards that color. I am rushed, I am passionate. I finally understand. I am growing up. I am abandoning my childish misconceptions of only being able to wearing red in order to feel grown up. I am entering a stage where nuetral rules most of the time, where bold colors remain in the bedroom, and where conservativeness is not naivete. I am going to live in a house once again. I am still a mother. I am going to be in my mid-20s. I am not a kid. I am actually an adult! I am not going to be so torrid in this relationship as I have. I will not be torrid like the sun beating down on me. And I will be more torrid in my relationships with people around me.
DAMN, who knew that buying nail polish could be so eye opening?
I am absolutely enchanted. The shimmering burgundy. The deep purple. It reminds me of blood. It reminds me of red velvet. I turn it in my hands. I never go this dark. But I am absolutely enchanted by the chocolately texture inside this bottle. He stares at me, and sighs. He looks at the bottle not seeing the significance in it. He can not understand how I can be so enraptured by something so miniscule. I toss it in. I get it.
At home, I stuggle with the color. It is too dark. It is too unlike me. I am a red girl. With the occasional hot pink. But I have always been a red girl. Just like any sex siren. I love red lips and red nails. They make me feel powerful, sexy, uninhibited, and very much the vixen. I pull it off, too. I have so many different reds. Every girl should find the red for her! So, I look at my purplish, almost black nails. They look infected almost. I shake the bottle, I wiggle my toes. I am waiting for the color to dry. To not look so sinister. But it remains. I debate removing it completely and starting over with a summery color. I sit there. Sigh deeply. I mutter the name.
Torrid.
tor·rid (tôrd, tr-)
adj. tor·rid·er, tor·rid·est
1. Parched with the heat of the sun; intensely hot.
2. Scorching; burning: the torrid noonday sun.
3. Passionate; ardent: a torrid love scene.
4. Hurried; rapid: set a torrid pace; torrid economic growth.
Well, that gives it a little more purpose. It is a dark color. Almost gothic. Edgy without being too blasse. I am growing to like it. It is like red. It makes me feel sexy. But in a dark, serious way. As though I were afflicted by some great unknowable pain deep in the very existense of me. I feel more sassy. More alive. I feel like I am actually finally starting my life. Like I removed every awful thing from my life with the nail polish remover, and started off new with my shiny Torrid nails.
The move, my birthday, getting ready to leave Gabe with my XH, and leaving the military. It's all wrapped up in that color.
Torrid.
I am torrid. I feel torrid. No wonder I gravitated towards that color. I am rushed, I am passionate. I finally understand. I am growing up. I am abandoning my childish misconceptions of only being able to wearing red in order to feel grown up. I am entering a stage where nuetral rules most of the time, where bold colors remain in the bedroom, and where conservativeness is not naivete. I am going to live in a house once again. I am still a mother. I am going to be in my mid-20s. I am not a kid. I am actually an adult! I am not going to be so torrid in this relationship as I have. I will not be torrid like the sun beating down on me. And I will be more torrid in my relationships with people around me.
DAMN, who knew that buying nail polish could be so eye opening?
posted by The Devil at
10:39 AM
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