If you’re eating breakfast, you may want to pass on this.
Remember the horrible, horrible day back in July? Then the next day I had to take the stray kitten to the vet. Well, when that little guy bit me, it was like getting my finger caught in a tiny, tiny bear trap. I knew it had punctured the nail, and I knew it was going to be bad growing out, but I certainly didn’t think that it would take this long. I have new nail coming in, but the ruined part is dangerously close to the tip. This is bad, because I am a nail fiddler. (It sounds much nicer than ‘a person who rips at the skin on my fingers when I’m nervous/angry/irritated/bored’.) I’ve been cutting all of my nails impossibly short to break this habit, because I have no idea if the bad nail is going to become detached from my finger. The horrors! (The middle finger got it, too, but it’s not as bad.)
So, the real reason I’m telling this gross story is that I can’t post a picture of my little toe, which I’m pretty sure I broke this morning when a glass fell on it. My fingers may look bad, but my feet are worse.