chipped nail polish

I'm looking down at my hands, and I can't help but notice the pretty pink polish coating my pale nails. I look at my right ring finger and notice the awkward shape; it's callased and shallow on one side because of how hard I grip my pen. Move one over and I see my middle finger. Fuck you is what I think. My pointer is crooked because of the numerous painful jammings between basketball seasons. Thumbs are weird. Period. My eyes drift past both my left pointer and middle, landing on my left ring finger. My prettiest finger, I've always thought. The only thing that might make it look better is a man. With money. And a big, fat, sparkly diamond. Where is that man, I wonder. Where is that man with my big, fat, sparkly diamond? Where are you, man?