My Fingernails My Waterloo


My fingernails.

I quit. Yes, I will fuss, fix, and demand perfection from my make-up. Yes, every outfit must be carefully chosen, maintained, coordinated, and sensational. My hair (as much as I can do with the frizz-mop) I will tame and control. My weight and belly I will maintain with arduous self denial and diet… well, most of the time. My bare feet will be properly polished, lovingly buffed, lotioned, and perfumed. But, my fingernails…

I give up.

Yes, ratty, tatty, chipped, and poorly polished. I accept defeat. The world has proven to me once and for all that my fingernails will look like those of a prepubescent girl. Chipped polish, patch jobs… and you know what… I don’t care.

Actually, I do care, but I still give up.

Don’t look at my fingernails. They are no longer under my power.

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