We women all know about the one fingernail on our hands that never behaves. Sure we have bad hand days, but ultimately our biggest manual fails are the fault of one particular finger.
Some of us have two bad nails. I am one of them.
Back in high school, one of my fingers decided to linger in a doorway of the library, and the door closed on it. The nail died and took a couple of months to grow out and drop off, and the new one has a permanent vertical ridge in it as a reminder of that fateful day. So that nail has a kink in it. Fortunately it didn’t cause me any grief today.
My thumb, on the other hand–well, actually it’s the same hand–tends to get me in trouble not by trying to hitch rides, but by running into things. This morning, while trying to turn the car radio off, I put a horizontal split in my thumbnail. It’s in one of those places one cannot take a file or emery to. So I did the old school fix of trying to seal it up with nail polish, and promptly spilled the bottle on the living room carpet.
So today it feels like I have ten children, and one of them is spoiling it for the other eight. No thumb ring for you, buster, until you grow up and grow out.
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