Sunday, April 19, 2015
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."
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.
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.
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.