In this enlightened polished age,
I could not depart my house at this stage,
Wearing a manicure I did not like,
Almost as bad as going naked, oh yikes!
On a social occasion I could not be seen,
Wearing on my digits what I classed obscene,
Even if 22 of you did profess with a heart,
I had to remove and a new mani must start,
After stuffing myself at a restaurant of my mate's,
I came home and dug out some stamping plates,
I also took out 002 of some girls from Bond,
And with my stash, to the sofa I did abscond,
To paint and stamp what your eyes can see,
What do you think, my instagram posse?
(Apologies for the instagram obsessed nature of my poems of late, what can I say: I am obsessed!)