The Nail Biter’s Dilemma
I broke a nail. I broke a nail big time. It happened somewhere between wrestling my kids into their car seat harnesses and serving “second breakfast” in the dining room at daycare.
Look at that fucker. Broke all the way down to the quick. One big honkin’ chip.
This is the moment every former nail biter fears. Because I couldn’t just continue on to work and make it through the day with a break like that. And I didn’t have any nail tools on me. Immediately my brain said, “just grab it with your teeth and tear the rest off so it’s even.” That sounded like damn good advice. It was charming, the notion that I could use my teeth this one time and be okay.
But I shook off the feeling. There’s no way it’s just a one time thing. This was a crossroads where I could either stay on the bite-free path I’m on or I could head down the return journey to gnawing.
I made a crucial decision and got back into the car and drove home, where I used appropriate, non-dental tools to reduce the rest of the length and smooth the break point.
I’m not happy. Look at that stubby thing. It’s not fair!
I feel like Doug in the movie, “Up,” when he had to wear the cone of shame. I look at my hand with the ridiculous break and feel like this:
Awww Doug finger.