Well, as you’ve probably been reading in the papers and watching on the news – I’ve spent the last 9 months growing out my finger nails to raise awareness of myself. I had hoped to go into the Guinness Book of World Records. I have been on heavy doses of vitamin E and calcium supplements. I’ve even doused myself in cocoa butter 4 times a day. That actually has nothing to do with my finger nails though… that’s more just something I like to do. Anywhoo… I had hoped to beat out this lady for the world title:
Mrs. Redmond has done a great thing for the women’s movement in competitive fingernail growing – a realm once dominated by men. But, now it is time for Mrs. Redmond to hand over the throne.
Or so I thought…
On my way to Waukegan, PA to meet with a Guinness officiant, we stopped to get some gas and snacks. My driver had to open the door for me because by that time my nails were too long to use door handles – not to mention too dangerous for a multitude of many of life’s greatest pleasures; rolling pizza dough, playing Angry Birds on my iPhone, making love, wearing those awesome styrofoam fingers at football games. I digressed. My apologies. I got out of the car and out of nowhere came this hotshot asian guy on a Kawasaki Ninja motorbike. He came screeching up to the fuel pump next to me, causing me to jump out of the way! I had but a millisecond to react. But, my fortitude and determination to claim a world record remained steadfast. I sprang into the air to dodge the asian motorbiker. I twisted my body around so that my hands were straight up in the air above my chest, protecting them from a possible breakage. I watched all my hard work pass before my eyes in those brief seconds when I was suspended above the dirty, gas-soaked cement of the gas station. I then came smashing down on my back with my hands straight up in the air, like a wide receiver reeling in a Hail Mary. Touchdown! Had my fingernails not been so grossly overgrown, I would have clinched my hand and fist-bumped God for making me so athletic. I laid there, catching my breath and reveling in the fact that I just saved my sweet, sweet fingernails, the keratin fruits of my phalanges, my 10 new favorite body parts. Then, while still laying there on my back, Asian Motorbiker-man apologized. I accepted his apology – though I recommended that someone with such a clumsy disposition shouldn’t ride anything called a Ninja. And then, I heard plodding footsteps come closer from behind me. I saw this face emerge over me.
… and CRACK! His fat, stupid, old-man orthopedic SAS shoes stepped on my pinky nail! DAAAAAMNNNIT! In a fiery rage, I jumped to my feet, I ripped his helmet off his head and threw it in the windshield cleaner bucket. I grabbed the squeegee and started scrubbing his face and goggles shouting, “ARE YOU BLIND YOU OLD BASTARD? ARE YOU [explative!] BLIND OR ARE YOU JUST A HATE-MONGERING ARTHRITIC DEVIL?!!” My driver quickly separated us. But the damage was done. In my fit of rage I had all but destroyed my fingernails. Bits and pieces of my dreams and fingernails lay a muck in gasoline and soda spills. I would no longer get my chance at a Guinness World Record.
So, I asked my driver to crank up some Nine Inch Nails and drive me back home. I’m now thinking about donating what is left of my fingernails to someone who is a chronic nail-biter so that they can experience the joy of having long fingernails — or just eat them for lunch.
Tanks & guns,