The perils of the fake tan finger...

It has been a while since my last poem, but after a recent mishap with some false tan (I vow to now forever accept my god-given paleness) I was inspired to rhyme once again.

All you ladies who have ever reached for the bottle will understand the perils of the fake tan finger. No matter how careful you are, your hands at one point in your life will have given the game away. Onlookers will realise that no, you haven't been chilling in the Caribbean or cruising around Monaco on a yacht. And it is all the fault of those blotchy fingers.

The application was precise,
A mitt was used and blended thrice.
To bed you go, smothered in mousse
hoping you weren't haphazard or obtuse.
You arise from slumber, and rush to the mirror
the result is pleasing, it sure did deliver.
A smooth golden glow, brown as a conker,
But then you see it, oh what a plonker...
In the crevice of each finger,
that telltale orange stain doth linger.
Scrub as you might those marks wont fade,
evidence of the mistake you made.
As you come to accept your loss,

your only options now are thus.
To your parlour do you retreat?
Don a glove, or admit defeat?
Your tan is false and now they know,
Your act of folly, forever your foe.

Kim K knows...

 

Ode to a broken nail

A broken nail is not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but if you have ever taken the monumental step to grow your own nails and tenderly care for them until one by one (after much filing and buffing) they all reach the desired length, you will have endured that cruel moment when one of the nails you have so lovingly cared for breaks. That one failing, a blemish on an otherwise perfect landscape. 

I was grieving such a loss today so have coined a little poem in its honour.

Each nail was healthy, full of strength,
I'd filed them to the perfect length.
On the gloss my eyes would linger,
an elegant end to each finger
But I'd seen it coming, seen the tear,
and what was next I couldn't bear.
A manicure of such beauty,
cut down in its revelry.
The index nail had met its fate
and talk of growth did not placate.
The tip had torn for all to see,
its coveted curve just a memory.
Lost as to which way to go,
file them down or let them grow?
We'd lost a member of our team,
A broken nail, a broken dream.

Fingers (and subsequently nails) crossed, in two weeks said nail will be standing as tall as its sisters without any other snappages along the way. Otherwise I give up.