Red's Wrap


There’s no way I’m going into my 68th year with unpainted toes. So I find the old bottle of deep, serious red polish from the medicine cabinet at our house on Lake Superior, a place where we have one of everything that is absolutely necessary for a good life like blue dye for tie-dyed shirts and a stand-up chicken roaster so you don’t have to perch your chicken on a can of beer which is both unseemly-looking and wasteful and an impossibly long skewer so even the most frightened child can roast a marshmallow.

So I start with the polish and, of course, it goes everywhere because I’ve already had two glasses of wine while sitting in the sun with my husband talking politics but only after he reassured me about my age by saying, “It’s okay that we’re getting older because we’re doing it together,” which I thought was…

View original post 616 more words