Polished

My iPhone pings; two images come forth.
I shift in a candy-shell rigid red plastic chair,
uncomfortably awaiting a vaccine at CVS.
"I want this." "And this," the curt text instructs.

My daughter has summoned me. Me!
While her delivery is wanting, she's asked for me! 
She needs me. I can't overlook this rare offer of connection.
I am Enrique Iglesias; I feel like I'm flaunting I can be her Shero, Baby dip polish.

Armed with my sore non-dominant deltoid and my $5 
You Got a Vaccine and Now You can Do a Capitalism dazzle-set coupon, 
I patrol the nail polish aisles, comparing my source photos, 
screenshots texted from the interwebs, 
to the color options in front of me.

I make a few causal paces through the polish section.
I survived a stick to the arm before nine a.m; how hard can this be?
My circles quicken around the extended island display.
No dice here; empty there.
I inadvertently apply Oh! Oh. Oh No No No, which coats my soul in shame.
[Captain Holt from Brooklyn 999, and Andre Braugher, R.I.P.]

My mood descends into matte The Picture of Dystopian Grey 
(or is it Mourning Dove gloss?) as I admit my fate: 
her color requests don't exist — at least not in stock.
I'll need to hunt for proxy colors in the same brand. 

But my daughter, a student of color theory, 
a fourth generation visual artist, 
and most pertinent, a teenager,
will not accept any off-spec purchase.

So I swivel on a merry-less-go-round, 
dodging the red stock cart —and its 
I'm-already-over-you, You-terrible-Customer Khaki 
wearing stock clerk, 
the one whom I'm blocking from her morning supply circuit.

I'm racking up hurdles and enemies with impressive speed, 
arguably faster than the Essie Expressie will set on her nails.
But hmm, maybe this minty green shade could be called teal? 
In a darkened room?
If I throw the bottle at her real quick? 
In a box with a fox?

I clutch this questionable shade;
then move on the list to the next boss: 
a color that, while in stock, doesn't appear IRL
as it does on the shiny interwebs. Ugh.

I am going to take the L, I heave off my old-person knees.
Making my way to the rare staffed register, I crack my neck in preparation.
I already know: my next eleven minutes of this life 
will be sacrificed on the altar of CVS mile-long promotions.
I negotiate stacking my now sweat-stained vaccine coupon 
with ExtraCare Cash and  then layering that, 
a top coat if you will, on an Essie buy two get $4 promotion. 

Woozy, I leave the store, unclear if I'm stumbling 
from the vaccine or my enamel emotions.
Disoriented, I make it to my white SUV, try the door twice, start to shake the handle.
UGHHHHHH! I vocalize, subtle as a Scandalous Scarlet metallic one-coat.

But what's that? Movement! Who's in my car?! 
No, no, that is not motion in my white, make that Yo' Mama of Pearl satin finish SUV.
No, it's a flicker of life in a carbon copy, one of three identical models in the same aisle. 
And this triplet, the one I am attempting to B&E? 
This one's occupied by a woman looking at me with cotton pad-large eyes, 
before she shrinks away from my lacquer bottle-clutching hand raised to her window, 
clear-coatedly bracing for impact.

I raise both hands in universal My Baddie sparking gel gesture;
I step backwards with purpose; 
wave goodbye like a Goober Natural vegan all-in-one.
I sprint to my hiding car, my face blushing Smooth Crimsonal. 

At this point I'm on the verge of being late to work, 
with a side of potential forever bracelets, 
which, let's be clear, would be less Cartier; more County PD.

I get into my personal property, locks the doors, 
and take a quick proof of polish pic for the child.
I aim to get the angle of the sun just-so that she can read 
the polish names at the top of each white applicator handle.
I hit Send on the text holding my breath like it's a job interview.

I see the three dots of This Person is Responding premonition 
— and then a verdict! 
Her SMS comes through: 

"K" 


My face melts like long-wear Gelee Cronut;
I shift into Drive.
Mothering a teen during a workday: 
not for the weak of nail, nor heart.