I've Nailed It

New graduate daughter is now airborne some where Schiphol airport and Muscat, leaving behind on my bedroom floor this false nail as a memento of her visit.

I'm not a fan of bodily things on floors; I shudder at the sight of hair and nails gracing any surface. However this seemed such a false bodily extra, that I am happy to blip it for the journal.
When she came, she sported 10 false nails, but as she says, they 'pinged off' at various intervals after Saturday. Goodness knows where the other 9 are.

They are a modern accessory for a today's woman, who has been liberated from housework to work in an office or shop. They would never have been countenanced by my mother's generation, who used their hands for hard manual work around the home. Nor I imagine are they popular with doctors and surgeons today :think of the possible damage to latex gloves.

I have neither the hands nor the inclination to invest in false nails. My hands are the hands of a grafter, short fingered and square, roughened by life's labours. I imagine that beautiful nails would interfere with my ability to scrub floors and knit or sew.

However I do admire beautiful long fingered hands with well shaped nails, gloriously varnished in eye catching colours. They are such an asset to a well turned out lady. But they are not for me, I'm afraid.

Speaking of nails, I once lost a toenail amongst the pebbles on a Greek beach, but that's another story.