I'll Always Have Paris

I have gloves and a kicky pair of red garden clogs but do I use them? No.

I think it goes back to my mudpie days when Mom would set me up with two cake tins and I'd go to town with water, a measuring cup, a wooden stirring spoon, and dirt.

Years later, she often remarked at how content I was, out near the sandbox with my baking utensils gathered around me.

"Bets, you'd sit all afternoon making cakes! I never saw a kid happier!"

So, when I looked down and saw my dirty pedicured toes (which I sparingly treat myself to once or twice a year), I felt washed with happiness. And sweat. And then I remembered the name of the nail polish; I'll Always Have Paris.

C'est manifique, n'est pas?