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# Polished
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/polished/
- Published: 2026-08-19T14:21:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:05:48.000Z
- Description: “Polished,” an ode to the simple wins a Mom can rarely accomplish with a teen daughter in the precious minutes before work, written Wednesday, August 19, 2026 poem 231 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: "Mom Win," by Diana Ludwick © 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Current Events, Faux Lament, Generational, Humor, Loosely Hinged, Poems, Pun-y / Tongue-in-Cheek, Unserious, 5, Andre Braugher, August, Brooklyn 999, Captain Holt, Cartier, CVS, Daughter, Dystopian Grey, Enrique Iglesias, Essie, Expressie, ExtraCare Cash, Forever Bracelet, GooberNatural, High Summer, I can be your hero baby, In a box with a fox, Intergenerational Dynamics, Interwebs, IRL, Mother-Daughter dynamics, My Baddie, Non-Dominant, Oh! Oh. Oh No No No., R.I.P., Smooth Crimsonal, Summer, Teen, Text, Vaccine, Wednesday, Yo' Mama of Pearl, You Got a Vaccine and Now You can Do a Capitalism, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

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.