To Paint Or Not To Paint

So I painted Lovebug's nails the other night.

Why?

Because my almost 4 year son asked me to, that's why. He asked without whining, with just the sweetest expression on his face. I had just painted Ironflower's nails a lovely pink. I started painting her nails a few years ago to get her to stop sucking her thumb. Totally worked, but now she wants me to keep doing it.

Plus we may have watched RuPaul's Drag Race together. (Look Hot Guy's been gone a lot lately and sometimes I need adult TV that isn't going to scare the kids. Plus, hello? Drag Queens? I totally wish I could be one.)

Anyway, the point is that I pointed my son's nails. I used clear, which I explained as the appropriate color for boys (unless they are drag queens, but I didn't want to remind him of that, because what if he'd then asked for red? I'm sure our family already gives the staff of their preschool enough laughs.)

I like to think of myself as a feminist. I raise my children to think that they can be anything, that toilet cleaning knows no gender and that drag queens are cool. But my boys are obsessed with trains and cars and my daughter loves princess Barbies. . . . . .and I'm really comfortable with that.

I felt sheepish when Hot Guy asked me why Lovebug's nails were so shiny. He just shook his head at me while refraining from comment.

So I'm curious to hear from other adults, would you paint your son's nails? And if so, would you force clear on him? Or let him go his own creative way?

(I want to state for the record that if he wants to paint his own nails when he's a teenager or an adult, I'm fine with it. It's the fact that's he so little and that someday he may call me from his therapist's office and talk about how I feminized him as a preschooler that freaks me out.)

How To Lose Your New Best Friend In Ten Minutes Or Less

Imagine that you see a tallish person wearing a teased wig. The person has orangey-red lipstick and eyeliner that looks like it was done with a Sharpie. The person is wearing black pants with gold pinstripes, a tight black t-shirt and a black jacket with rhinestone buttons and a fur collar. Clear plastic heels adorn the person's feet.

Now imagine that you are seeing this person walk into the playground where your children are playing.

Do you think, OMG, there's a drag queen at the park! Maybe she'll want to be friends and I won't have to hear the tenth birth story of the morning! Maybe we can go to a gay club over the weekend - I've so missed them. What will I wear?

Maybe that's just me.

But wouldn't you get a little bit of a thrill if a drag queen (and his/her grandchild) showed up at the playground when you were bored to tears?

Now imagine that as you get into a conversation with said drag queen, you realize that she has no Adam's apple. And her voice sounds naturally high-pitched. And the child calls her, "Grandma". And to your horror you realize that this "drag queen" you wanted to befriend is just a woman with really, really, bad style.

Do you still attempt to make friends with her, or do you casually wave as you go to your car?

At least I smiled as I waved.