The Hanging Nail

I woke up yesterday with a hang nail.  Or “hanging nail” as Kimmy used to call them.
 
You probably will think it wrong that I never corrected her.  But she sounded so cute!  

"Mommy, do you have any nail clippers?  I have a hanging nail."  

Adorable.

Kind of like how she called toe nails “tony nails.”  So sweet.

I got double pleasure when she had a hanging nail on her tony nail.

(Don't worry.  I told her the correct pronunciation when she got to middle school.) 

Back to my hang nail: I attempted to bite it off but it was quite elusive.  It was so short it kept slipping from my teeth.

I persevered and was finally able to grab hold of a teeny piece of nail with my teeth.   I tugged.

YOWZA DID THAT HURT!  I could feel it all the way to my tony nail.

And then I lost hold of it.  Damn.  It was still hanging.

I had no choice but to cover it with a band-aid.

Now back in the day, when my girls were little, band-aids were a hot commodity.  Kimmy would put band-aids on any and all injuries.  Kind of like a badge of honor.  

But to Linda, band-aids were part of her wardrobe.   While Kimmy was begging for sour gummi worms at Publix, Linda was pleading for Mickey Mouse band-aids.  And we had an endless variety in the medicine cabinet: Sponge Bob, Little Mermaid, Flintstones.  You name it.

Back to my hang nail: I went in search of a band aid for my finger.  I looked in bathroom but could only find my Mustache band-aids and Bacon band-aids.  Neither matched the green shirt I was wearing.  

Where the heck were my Pickle band-aids?  I made a mental note to buy some Jane Austin band-aids next time I was on Amazon. 

OMG.

The realization set in.

My band-aid collection was remarkably similar to Linda's 2002 assortment.  I was regressing into my six-year old daughter who is now 20.

NOOOOOOOOOO!

Wait a minute.  No, I'm not.

I have much better taste in band-aids than Linda ever had.  

I wouldn’t be seen dead wearing an Ariel band-aid over my hanging nail.