<a style=”display: inline;” href=”http://www.penseesbycaro.fr/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/6a0115701061b3970c017d40d1b027970c.jpg”><img title=”De3a0386705411e28eb922000a1fbc88_7″ alt=”De3a0386705411e28eb922000a1fbc88_7″ src=”http://www.penseesbycaro.fr/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/6a0115701061b3970c017d40d1b027970c-800wi.jpg” border=”0″ /></a>On my way to buy eggs and steaks, I came back from Monop with this. It is not as if I already had a dozen of striped shirts*. And as many red-orange nail polish. That said, some spend their lives looking for the true meaning of life or for a vaccine against cancer, my quest is the perfect tangerine nail polish. We make do with what we have.
Not much more to say today, except for the fact that it is less and less sore. I master completely going from one buttock to the other and do regret that it is not a sport because I think I would rock it. I mean: I would really rock it.
Have a nice day.
*Yes but none of them is pink, that what my evil inner voice told me when I tried to resist that day-glo call.
Edit: The reference of the Essie nail polish on the picture is “5th Avenue”. Can’t possibly resist, can we?
Edit2: On the other hand, if Essie polishes are, in my opinion, the nicest in terms of color, the French version is crap in terms of consistency. Too liquid, too transparent, apply in it is a pain. It doesn’t actually prevent me from buying them, but it is because I am a complete jerk. Sometimes.