My fingernails

Growing up, I didn’t pay much attention to my fingernails.  My stepfather did make me show him my nails before I ate sometimes.  I learned to use a nail brush, the little plastic kind with a curve at each end of the handle.  Before a wrestling match in high school and college, the referee would sometimes examine my nails.

I am surprised at how often I use my nails: pick up paper and other fine, delicate, hard-to-grasp things.  I have been tempted to have an attendant in a nail salon that takes care of my toenails paint my fingernails.  There are so many gorgeous colors!  But, I think painted fingernails and toenails for that matter would send the wrong signal about who and what I am.