I took the advice of Hollyrhea (by the way, you people with your comments . . . I am just a blank canvas for your brainy brushtrokes), and I went a-huntin’ for adhesivelike things to fix my broken, nasty, Hobbity thumbnail. All the drug stores had were acres of Working Girl-y glue-on nails. Which reminds me of a lesbian cartoon:
From Kris Kovick’s What I Love about Lesbian Politics Is Arguing with People I Agree With. Now the phrase “check her nails” can be a part of your secret vocabulary, too! Rev up your gaydar!
My point — and I do have one — is that I finally went to a beauty supply store and found Crack Attacker. “Instant repair bandages for cracked and split nails.” I don’t even know how to make this funnier than it already is. Crack Attacker has attacked my crack so well that I’ve forgotten it’s even there, which is my test for how well something is working. Other things that I take for granted so they must be doing fine: my husband, my car, my cat, my tattoo, most of my body except for my knees occasionally, and all my invisible friends. Things that need constant hand-holding in a needy, low-self-esteem way: my computer, my hair, and my brain after reading the newspaper yesterday — I really don’t need to choke up anymore, thanks, I’ll go back to repressing my anger and fear into a nice little tumor, if you don’t mind.