So I’m in my local Wal-Mart recently, checking out the latest line of nail polish. Beside me is a young girl of about thirteen, with two women: I’m guessing her mother and her grandmother. One by one, this chick is picking up nail polishes, opening the bottles, and swiping the brush across her fingernail to check the color. She shows each color to the two grown women, they nod or shake their heads to give their opinion, and on she moves to the next bottle in the line.

Umm…is it just me or is that disgusting?

Well, anyone who knows me can tell you I’m not about to walk by something like that with my eyes averted. So I poke my head into the discussion and remark, “You know, that’s not very sanitary?”
The girl looks at me with that prevalent teenage attitude emanating like August sunshine. “Huh?” she says, showing me her powerful grasp on the English language.
“How do you know someone else–someone with a nail fungus–didn’t try that polish on before you did?” I suggest.
All three women look at me with a mixture of shock and disgust.
I, of course, reach for the color I want–hermetically sealed!–and stroll away.

I’m sure I was the topic of conversation all the way home.