Hakuna Matata

My grandmother used to do fingernail inspections.

“Let’s see your nails,” she’d say whenever we had a free moment together.

She’d usually make a little clicking noise of disapproval with her tongue because, c’mon, I always bit my nails and often had dirt under their gnarly remains after playing outside with the boys.

She would make a clicking noise today.

Despite taking nail-health vitamins and frequently brushing on coats of nail strengthener, I’ve been snagging my fingernails on furniture and clothing while softening them beyond repair when I wash my dishes. Having braces forever cured me of biting my nails, but lately I’ve been taking the snagged edges and tearing at them with my fingers. The nail strengthener formula stung my exposed nailbeds just a bit ago as I brushed it on while sitting at my new kitchen island/table.

Sure, Grandma would make a clicking noise with her tongue today if she saw my fingernails, but I don’t need to worry about it. In fact, I don’t need to worry about anything. 

I have a job. I have a car. I have a roof over my head (AND A DECK AND A PORCH AND A WASHER AND DRYER AND A PARKING SPACE) and food in my pantry.

I don’t have a homework assignment due at midnight. I don’t have three projects to do and an exam to study for after I get done with work.

She’d make a clicking noise today at my fingernails, but that’s the only click of disapproval I’d get from her right now.

I’ve been sleeping deeply and dreaming –– DREAMING –– for the first time in years. I have no worries. The only clicking sound I hear now comes from my stovetop when I light one of the gas burners to make myself dinner.

Hakuna Matata.

Emily’s big day

When I get married, I want my wedding to be the simplest wedding a wedding can be. It’s going to be in the backyard I can see in my peripheral vision right now. The pool I can see out of the corner of my eye will be covered by a glass dance floor, or maybe if that’s too much we can just place a nice fountain in it that will make that lovely trickle noise I adore.

Everything’s going to be white. The contrast from the bright green of the grass to the white of everyone’s clothes will be absolutely stunning. I don’t want it to be traditional. I don’t want to be the only one in white. Everyone else should be blank too. It’ll be a small ceremony, so the chairs (white, of course) will form small rows and then reveal a bright green aisle. I’ll be holding a bouquet of lilies (picked from our lily patch, of course) and my bare feet will complement my grandmother’s or my mother’s wedding dress (I have to choose). I don’t want to spend hundreds of dollars on a gown I’m only going to wear once.

That’s my dream wedding right there. To make it complete I’ll need the bridesmaids, groomsmen, and, of course, a groom to call my own. I don’t know who that’s going to be yet. I have the rest of my life to figure it out. Right now I can only dream.

I can only hope that my wedding will be as cool as Jill and Kevin’s: