My nails.
My hair.
My time.
Number three naturally leads to numbers one and two. One and Two keep three from being as short as it otherwise might.
Sometimes I look at women with long, manicured nails and I feel a stab of want. I'd love to have hands with long, oval nail beds that naturally grown the perfect nail. You know, the nail that looks awesome with polish on even when the nails are short. But then I think of all the things that my hands need to do -- all the things that my hands are capable of doing -- and the envy washes out with the tide.
I try to imagine what my life would be without the ability to saddle my horse, build things, play my guitar, roughouse with my dogs, bathe my kids, and I can't.
I run my fingers through my short hair, growing out a bit now and unruly in its desire to curl up and around my ears and go the wrong way on the right side of my forehead. I can grow it long if I want. Sometimes I do want long hair. And other days I look at it short and I think that it looks perfect just the way it is. I remember how long it took to dry it and try and tame its nonconformist spirit. I think of the other things I like to do with my time -- not the least of which being sleep.
My hair is short. My nails are short. And because they are short, other things can be a little bit longer.
Time with my children.
Time with my horse.
Time with my dogs.
Maybe I don't look as feminine as I could. Maybe I don't look quite as polished. I'm perfectly OK with that.
Short suits me just fine.
