Bye Bye Acrylics

Yes, I’m staring down at my uneven paper-thin stubs that look like the result of some lumber company’s chainsaw massacre, but are really my fingers destroyed for eternity.  Okay, my nails weren’t that gorgeous to begin with, but you get the point.  I’m not happy, and I need to vent.  

You see, I didn’t learn from my mistakes.  This is the second time it’s happened.  A second infectiongrew  under the nail where I again, rushed to the ER to get them off forever.

No, this time it’s for good.   

I’m not going to beat myself up.  Well not forever.   It’s not like I got divorced and then married the same idiot all over again.  No, it wasn’t that horrendous though it teeters on borderline stupid.

The first time it happened I asked my nail tech, Lorrene (not her real name, and I don’t remember her real name anyway) why it happened.  She said I must’ve knocked my fingers against something and broken the seal, which allowed water to seep underneath the nail. 

Then it was bound to happen.  I’m hard on my hands, always banging into something, which is why I could never grow out my real ones in the first place, which is the reason I turned to fake. 

So for a few months my squatty square-knuckled fingers looked like Miss America’s—if Miss America was squinting in the sun from twenty-three feet away. 

Yes, they were a marvel to admire before bits of green began creeping under a couple of the acrylics.  What the hell was going on?  It was like Johnny Appleseed was working the nail beds, like a modern leprechaun applied for chlorophyll rights.

Infection.  Damn.  Lorrene removed the nails.

So what was I doing in the ER last week getting a tetanus shot and an RX for cipro?
You see, my girlfriend Jan (not her real name though I do remember it) got these gel nails a few years ago and said they were safe.

“But fake nails are the worst things ever invented.”

“Look at mine.  I’ve never worn anything ever.  These things are like made in heaven.”

I hid my nauseatingly uneven stubs behind my back as I examined what I thought to be perfection.  It’s been 20 years, and times had changed.  Gels were new, different!  I took the plunge. 

Months went by, even a year, until Johnny Appleseed reared his green misshapen head once again, and once again I raced for the cure—chopped off my nails and swallowed the lifesaving drugs. 

Maybe I should start a ten-step program, passing out sponsorships, ready to offer advice on a moment’s notice.  Acrylics Anonymous.  Crazy, huh?  We can walk on the moon, but we can’t find Terry new tips.