I saw a new post from Tony Woodlief this morning. In a heartbeat, I was flashed back to the orange nailpolish. I rarely wear orange nailpolish, almost never. But I have some for “emergency” wear. What would constitute an emergency?

I’m from Tennessee, and I bleed orange. GO VOLS! However, bleeding orange isn’t enough if you attend a sporting event (or a party during a televised event). Its generally a good idea to be wearing some orange. By wearing orange nailpolish, I can avoid the orange shirt. The orange shirt makes me look like a huge jaundiced lumpy pumpkin (which is definitely an emergency). I’m SO lucky to have true friends that understand the situation.

See, there are hundreds of thousands of fans in Tennessee. There are NOT hundreds of thousands of bottles of nailpolish. It becomes a hot commodity, because most women know they look like they have malaria when they wear orange. Fortunately, a friend (from Alabama, no less) thought of me when she saw some at the drugstore. There isn’t a big demand for it in Alabama. Go figure. How much does she love me? She bought it, packed it extremely carefully, hauled it to the post-office, and shipped it off to “the enemy”. She couldn’t bear the thought of me turning into one of “those” people.

You know the ones. The men wear face-paint and the women wear big hair topped with bigger orange bows (and even orange lipstick)! Everyone wears orange shirts, and some wear orange plaid pants. We used to watch and laugh, safe and unoffending, behind dorm windows as the lunatic-alumni-fans flooded campus on game-days. I was never too hard on them, sweet and harmless as they are. But in my heart I vowed to not turn into one. It’s a much harder trap to avoid than you might think. They're just so obviously having so much fun! It starts small. Just one pair of ear-rings, for giggles. Then a shirt, then a shirt with a motto, then a bow, then a GIANT bow and its too late. Next thing you know, you're buying a white poodle because it looks good in those little orange sweaters! I have to be careful, because I don't even like poodles.

The first time I saw a non-miniature poodle I was in highschool. I drove over to a friends house in Oak Ridge. Her neighbors had their standard size poodle out in the yard. The first thing that occurred to me was "the radiation here is worse than I thought". At least it wasn't wearing a big orange sweater.