Awhile ago, Maya was admiring somebody's freshly painted fingernails. I don't think they were mine, but they could have been, and she casually asked if she could have hers painted too. I didn't have time and really didn't to start that habit so I told her finger nail polish was for older girls.
"For when you get married," she answered.
"Yes, for when you get married," I responded just a little bit uneasily but that was the end of that.
Today, I dropped Maya off at our friend's house so I could accompany Guillermo's class on a field trip. Maya's friend's fingers were painted a shade of cotton candy blue with sparkles. Maya admired them as I walked back to my car.
When I picked Maya up several hours later, her fingernails were a bright red, a not so pretty red, a somewhat inappropriate red, but she was proud. "Maya, your fingernails are pretty," I told her.
"I didn't have a wedding," she told me right away. "Pat just painted them. I didn't get married."
"I'm glad you didn't get married, but your nails look beautiful," I told her.