This morning I wrote about being “disabled” due to the length of the press-on nails I’d put on last night in anticipation of Friday’s Big Birthday Bash. This morning, I hated them. Actually, hate might be a kind term.

Now, however, an entire day has passed. I swept the floor, washed dishes, did laundry, took a nice hot bath, later took a nice hot shower, dusted furniture, made dinner AND did some gardening. (I still haven’t weeded my neglected front garden, and I’d better get to doing that before our friends arrive Friday night, huh?).

So, how do the nails rate? I replaced the lost thumbnail at noon. The replacement held up splendidly throughout the busy day, although I did manage to lose a fake toenail at noon. The toenails have got to go: I paid too much for the swanky black silk stockings I plan to wear when VH takes me out for my birthday on Friday night to watch, horrified, as these egregiously long suckers rend holes through my pricey pretties. Unfortunately, despite all of my efforts to pry the things off, they’re not budging. Maybe I should rent a plasma cutting device?

Anyway, I’ve decided that I rather like the finger nails, despite their length. They’re definitely more girly than I’m used to, but there’s something sexy about that. No, I can’t cavalierly flip open pop cans like I do with my usually grubby-gardener hands. But I can tell by the look in VH’s eye when I brought my can of Tab to him and said, “Honey, can you open this because I don’t want to break a nail?” that he kind of likes my “fingernail disability”.

Hey, after nearly a decade together, whatever rocks his boat rocks mine, too.

Wednesday, June 6th, 2007, 7:04 pm   |   My Venomous Life  |  RSS feed Comments and pings are currently closed.