As we all know, everyday our hair, fingernails and toenails grow a tiny little bit. In my case, it's just my fingernails and toenails as I have been blessed with being what polite circles would call "Follically Challenged". Impolite circles call me "Slap Head", "Chrome Dome", or simply "Bald Git".
I prefer the polite circles.
Anyway, up until tonight I was always of the understanding that our fingernails and toenails would alert to their need to be trimmed by simply catching on items of clothing, or innocently scratching the person closest to us in moments of romantic interlude.
However, it would appear that I am the exception to the rule. My nails appear to have decided that rather than make tiny holes in various garments of mine (or in any female person that might be in close proximity to me), they will alert me to their need for pruning by causing me excruciating pain.
I have been sitting here, thinking about what to talk about on today's blog, when WHAM!! sharp pain starts shooting out from the index toe on my left foot (you big toe is basically your thumb, so the next one to that is your Index toe, then it's the two useless toes that serve no purpose like the two useless fingers on each hand, and finally your little toe which is your little finger). It felt like hot needles were being stuck into my toe as if by Satan's Acupuncturist, whilst simultaneously crushing the end. Satan's acupuncturist slash heavy handed masseuse is probably a better image to create.
With a cry of confused agony I whipped off my sock and examined the painful digit. To my surprise, there was not a tiny flaming Swedish person with lotion in one hand and red hot needles in the other merrily whistling away as it stabbed and pummeled my toe. In fact, there was nothing to see at all, just my toe and my nail sitting there all innocent.
"What? We 'ain't done nothing", they appeared to say.
The pain however, was telling me otherwise. I gently pushed the nail and immediately regretted it - pain shot through my toe like electricity. Without touching it, I looked again at my nail assuming that it was digging into my skin - but no, skin and nail were adjacent to each other, but not touching. Like polite neighbours.
This confused me - but I had no time for pondering. I was still in pain, and there was only one solution: Trim the nail.
Now, when it comes to trimming nails I'm more of a 'tearer' than a 'cutter'. I find it easier and faster to constantly pick at the nail until you get a bit of purchase, and then tear the thing off in one fell swoop. It's too much effort to get up, go to the bathroom, get my manicure set (yes, I have one), walk back to where I was sitting, and then address the problem.
Actually I've just realised that technically I only ever need to walk to where the manicure set is, because once I'm there the bits of me that need trimming in the first place are already there too. Walking back, carrying the manicure set (ironically in the hand with the nails that need trimming), is simply a waste of time and effort.
Although the 'tear' method has many advantages over the 'cut' method, it's not all sunshine and roses; every time I tear part of my nail off, there is the danger of tearing too far. I am all too familiar of the agony involved when a nail being teared off grabs hold of a piece of skin than runs down into the quick, and starts to tear that out too. Too often have I jumped up and down in pain with a piece of nail dangling from the end of my finger only attached by a thin ribbon of skin protruding from the bleeding corner of the nail. Too often have I had to rip the skin out fast and then scream in anguish as the exposed nerves are twanged by the air reaching it. And too often have I been left with finger tips or toes that look like I've been doing things with them that I really shouldn't have been doing.
All these thoughts paraded through my head as I picked at my nail, but none of them could stop me tearing the offending part away. This time just the intended bit of nail came away. This time.
I don't know why my nail hurt me so much. Perhaps this is evolution in progress. Perhaps from now on I shall always know when it is time to trim my nails, as the pain receptors in my brain call in extra staff to handle the additional information. I hope that isn't how things are going to be - there must be better ways of telling me that my nails need trimming.
Perhaps they could just vibrate a little? Or give off a distinctive smell. Alright a different distinctive smell. I don't care what it is - just don't hurt me!!