I had to get my nails painted today. Purple. The color is not significant. Sitting in a chair watching and feeling a fresh coat of opaque glitter stroke cross my fingernails was important. It just was. Not because I needed it. And I did. Not just because at breakfast this morning Love said "Baby, what's wrong with your nails?" And he did. But because it calmed my spinning head after hearing that a man walked into a room, a school and took so many lives. My painted nails will not bring them back. My pedicure will not ease the pain. Not even my own. It is silly, I know. But it was what I could think to do after prayer.