In my own defense I want to tell you right up front that I have no thyroid gland. And in case that makes no sense to you, I had to have surgery years and years ago and have the darn thing taken out because it kept growing and growing until it looked like I might need a wheelbarrow to carry it. Well, I could be exaggerating just a little. The thyroid gland controls lots of stuff, like metabolism (which is my excuse for being 20 or 40 pounds overweight) and nail growth (they don’t) and hair growth (it does but it’s thin) and dry skin and how much you sleep. Now don’t you lazy people out there automatically assume you have thyroid problems just because you like to sleep – it doesn’t work like that. Anyway, my skin is dry which is ok because I just buy lotion by the gallon. It’s cheaper that way anyhow. And I don’t have much body hair which is great. I’ll be discreet and just say that I don’t have to shave under my arms and a bikini wax will never be in my future. But the worst part of this whole thyroid deficiency is that my nails won’t grow, and when they do they peel and split and break. This is not ok. Until you don’t have nails you don’t realize how much you need them, how much you use them. Try opening that tiny little round thing that holds your necklace or bracelet together. Impossible. And why do they make those so hard to open anyway? Try scratching your husband’s back for him – it does not work the same to rub! And if you can’t scratch his back how are you going to talk him into scratching yours? And what’s the point of getting a new diamond ring if you can’t hold that hand out in front of you with pride as you walk into the quilt guild meeting, making sure everyone notices what your husband just gave you? I’m just sayin’.
So, for the last few or many years I’ve worn artificial nails. If I sat down to calculate how much I’ve spent on these things I’d probably be a mite upset at the BMW I could have had instead. But I won’t go there. It would just be too depressing. I have formed a close and lasting bond with the girls at the nail salon. I know all about their families and their illnesses and even have some of their recipes. You’d think since we’re such good friends they’d at least give me a discount but no, that doesn’t happen.
I don’t mind so much the money or the time or even the fact that I need the artificial nails. It’s the pitying looks I get from “real women”, women who have real nails, long & beautiful nails of their own. They look at you like “Girl, what in the world is wrong with you that you can’t even grow nails?” What’s up with that? I don’t look at them like that knowing all the time that they get a little help from Lady Clairol. Or that they’ve made a quick little visit to the dermatologist for some Botox injections. In April I had a little stroke. That’s what the doctor called it but I’m bettin’ that if it was his stroke he wouldn’t be calling it little. Wouldn’t you know, as a result they made me get off hormones after 25 years on them. Yes, 25 years. Needless to say I’m in the middle of hormone withdrawals - do these women with the looooong nails really want to mess with me? I don’t think so. You might want to warn them.
For those of you wondering if I'm ever going to get back to stitchin' stuff - tomorrow girls, tomorrow.
