Recently I did one thing a bit out of left subject—I went on trip. To put together I purchased an enormous floppy hat, a yellow solar costume, white-rimmed sun shades… you understand… all the necessities from the “Brooklyn lady goes on a tropical vacation starter pack.” But! The pre-purchase that’s going to dwell in infamy (in my guide at the very least…) was a set of 1 cm gel-covered acrylic nails. Whew, they have been cute. Pink, almond formed, just about indestructible. Let me paint a fair clearer image: Cardi B nails minus three cm, okurrr?
So I get the nails, give my technician an enormous ol’ tip, head out of the salon, and pull up Lyft to catch a journey dwelling. Except I Can’t. Open. Lyft. My nails! Too lengthy, too livid! I’m stabbing the display with the pad of my index finger like I’m a cavewoman attempting to work a Kindle. Me can’t sort Chrystie Street. Me need to go dwelling!
Much more of that occurred as I went on trip. My nails functioned as a type of time warp—out of the blue I used to be a child. Me to my fiancé: Open this jar, button this costume, untie these footwear. I pierced by way of low-cost rest room paper as if my nails have been the Incredible Hulk bursting by way of a white tank; I eliminated and inserted contact lenses with a focus stage I normally reserve for Operation. And after I received again to work? [Cackles in Cardi B.] I couldn’t do something! Can’t sort, can’t faucet my mouse. I’m dictating this publish by way of Siri proper now, and I’ll be the primary to say that woman wants a lesson or two on homonyms.
I’ve attempting a pair extra strategies to remain sane. I’m utilizing my knuckles much more, I’m fastidiously punching the keyboard with simply my index fingers, I’m texting at a glacial tempo. But in truth I don’t suppose I’m minimize out for this lengthy nail life. Too many typos, too many wayward autocorrects. Sometimes a girl’s simply received to say duck it, you understand?
Photo through the writer