Only—what are we?—nearly three years after my little falling-off-a-stool-while-pregnant-and-catching-my-balance-so-I-didn't-land-flat-on-my-back-but-did-kick-a-hole-in-the-wall-breaking-my-toe-and-ripping-the-nail-nearly-clean-off incident and I finally got around to really trimming my new toenail. And that's not because I'm lazy. It's because it's taken it that long to really actually grow long enough to cut. And it's growing in way funky (it's all thick and weird and I really don't like it).
If only I knew a really good podiatrist...that I haven't accused of being an idiot while in the midst of offering me free medical advice. Meh. I'm sure I'll get around to asking a doctor about it sometime. It's really not too big of a concern except...that I was trimming my toenails the other day and decided that it was time to conquer this super gnarly nail.
I positioned the clippers and pressed down on the levers and they exploded in my hands. Bits of nail clipper went everywhere (and it did no damage to my nail so...that's neat). It was very shocking.
The lever had snapped in half, the pin went flying across the bathroom and landed on the shower rug. I still had the blades in my hand, as well as half the lever, but I couldn't find the rest of the lever anywhere (though I did eventually find half of the rest of the lever so the last bit of nail clipper shrapnel is still somewhere in our bathroom).
When I showed Andrew the shattered remains of our nail clippers he asked why I didn't just use the ginormous set of toenail clippers that we've owned for a billion years and have never used. I told him that, honestly, I didn't know where we'd put them since moving.
He helped me find them (he likes to keep track of nail clippers) and I managed to clip my hideous toenail and that is your TMI story for the day. You're welcome.
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