April 7, 2012 § Leave a comment

Day 98.

My Easter manicure withstood the wood stain that clung to my fingers every time I moved a freshly coated board from the pile. I kept a paper towel in the back of my blue jeans pocket for wiping my hands when the stain dripped down from the brush. I thought for sure that all effort to maintain the integrity of the nail polish would be useless, however, as I sit here typing I cannot help but notice that all but one nail still looks impeccable.

A thick layer of sawdust still sits within my hair. Nearly the same color, it goes unnoticed until I run my fingers through my short cut, releasing a delicate shower of dust. I stood unwavering amidst the heavy sawdust blowing at me as it was my important duty to hold the…well, the metal thingys down so that…well, I’m not sure what I was doing exactly, but there was a chainsaw coming in my direction so I did as I was told. I held my ground, and the metal thingys, despite being covered in a thick layer of dust. The smell of freshly cut wood and chainsaw exhaust is a combination I won’t pass up, even if it does mean getting sawdust in my eyes, ears, nostrils, hair, eyelashes, shoes, fingernails…

I suppose I should have showered, but that always seems like too much work. So instead I put on a couple thick layers of cherry red lip-gloss, shook some sawdust from my hair, and headed to the grocery store. Either the smell of stain was still stuck in my nostrils or I smelled a lot more “redneck” than I thought as I combed the aisles for the items on my list. I couldn’t help notice the woman who smelled of coconuts. “Ah, to smell like a girl again,” I thought to myself as I nearly rammed my cart into hers. Even now, as I sit here, I cannot help but wonder if the masculine smell of chainsaw is still on my skin or just in my imagination. My hair and skin itches from talking about sawdust, and the shower seems like a lot less of a painstaking task right about now.

I stain wood like a girl. Because I am a girl. That doesn’t mean I am incapable. I enjoy it. But I am a girl who notices the smell of chainsaw and stain and wood. I am a girl who attempts to cover up the smell with hairspray and cause distraction with lip-gloss. I am a girl who is aware of the integrity of her manicure. I am a girl who notices when she rubs up against the sticky, stained wood, causing brown marks across her blue jeans. I am a girl whose bra strap falls off her shoulder as she runs a paintbrush back and forth over the really long boards. But that doesn’t mean I am incapable or any less willing to do a “man’s job.” I can bake a cake, and I can do a lot of other things. For I am not just a girl, I am a woman.



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You are currently reading Ninety-Eight at Lost In the Separation.


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