Wednesday, April 13, 2016

A hang nail by dusk light

I went on an A2 ice-cream (slash) generic Pringles run to Coles and when I opened the car door and prepared to climb in I tore back a third of my left thumb nail off after catching it on the lip where the roof meets the door.

I'd trimmed my ragged nails back about a week ago; it shouldn't have caught. But caught it did and off I had to rip it off.

There was a shard of hang nail still in the side of the nail bed that had to come out. I hate hang nails, I loathe hang nails, so I pulled out my wallet pocket knife—a plastic rectangle of slim tools—which contained tweezers and set to work.

I leaned across the still warm bonnet of my car just as dusk was landing and for ten minutes, within that magic hour of light, with finger tips stained with blood, I gently worked the sliver of nail down the side of the thumb and finally managed to tear it free.

I got home, trimmed the rest of the thumbnail back and put on a fuck-off huge bandaid. 

Fucking hang nails. They're never fun and this fucker was a fuck. I bet I get the super throbs when I am in the shower—and super throbs suck the wang.

Curse you, accidental loss of one third of my active left thumbnail.

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