Nailed It In One Post

(NOTE: Based on time elapsed since the posting of this entry, the BS-o-meter calculates this is 9.648% likely to be something that Ferrett now regrets.)

“It’s like I’m going through puberty again.  My whole body is changing.  I don’t know what to do.”
“Ferrett,” Bec said seriously, “You’re only growing out your nails.”
Yet after thirty-plus years of chewing my nails down to soft, ineffective nubbins, finding these things at the end of my fingertips constantly freaks me out.  I go to itch my face, and suddenly Wolverine is raking adamantium claws through my beard.  I adjust my shirt, and scratches appear, like stigma.
It’s only now that I enter the ranks of the bepowered that I understand that being nailless is the absolute lowest grade of the handicapped.  You can’t scratch yourself.  Envelopes daunt you.  You have to rely on outside equipment to open DVDs, your pudgy digits pawing ineffectively at the outside of the case.  But suddenly I have nails, and now it’s like a crazy superpower I don’t want.
Oh, the nails will come in handy.  Some of my lovers like to be scratched, and it seems only fair to try to leave furrows instead of pale white marks that fade.  Yet here I am, with these bonelike extensions, clumsy as a foal.  I try to iPhone-text, and it’s like a dog tapdancing on an ice pond, all clatters and no contact.
Who am I?  What am I becoming?  Will my errant nails go berserk and eventually need to be assaulted by a roving manicurist to rein them in?  Only time will tell.

1 Comment

  1. jen
    Nov 17, 2011

    “Will my errant nails go berserk and eventually need to be assaulted by a roving manicurist to rein them in? ”
    http://mensroomspa.com/
    #helpful

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