I learned an important lesson today: don't believe every glowing recommendation a trusted friend gives you.
God created me with weak fingernails. Okay, I used to bite them, but only because they had already cracked or peeled. I put polish on them, take Vitamin E, but nothing seems to work. Over Christmas vacation I saw an old friend (not old age-wise, but one I hadn't seen in years) who had great-looking french manicured glue-on nails. I complimented her on them, and she raved about how inexpensive and easy they were.
Dummy me. I just had to try them for myself. Do you know how many different sizes and types of nails come in one package? 10 sizes in high arch, regular, or flat. It took me an hour to read the little numbers on the back of each nail and then figure out what size each of my fingers were. So much for easy. And I could've made 20 times the money theses things cost me if I had been teaching piano lessons for that hour. Then I had to glue them on. Have you ever tried to do anything with long nails when you're not used to it? By the time I got to my second hand, I had dropped several nails with glue already on them. One fell in the trash and I had to dig for it. After they were all on, I realized I had glued the skin of my finger to one of them.
My husband wanted me to program the VCR before I left for church, so I did. But it was so hard to push the buttons on the remote. And my cell phone? Let's not go there.
So, I finally traipsed off to church with beautiful nails. During choir practice, one of them popped off (not enough of that toxic glue, I guess). When I got home, I started filing one of my thumb nails down. You guessed it - that one popped off as well. By this time, I've had it with these stupid, lovely nails. I can't function. So I read the directions to find out what makes them come off. Acetone. Do I have any in the house? No.
So here I am, clicking away at my keyboard with 6 long nails (the other two I was able to pop off on purpose), taking at least twice as long to type this as I normally would. Of course, I wouldn't be typing it at all if this fiasco hadn't happened. A writer can be thankful for a pithy anecdote.
But I digress. I type. Everyday. A lot. What was I thinking? I can't have long nails, no matter how fantastic they look. Tomorrow I shall go straight to the store, buy some acetone, and soak these puppies off. Such sacrifices I have to make to be a writer. And I never ever again will listen to friends' recommendations. Unless it's a recommendation to read Christian fiction. I can never go wrong there, can I?