Ouch.
  • Maggie Franklin
  • November 10, 2008

By last Tuesday afternoon I had managed to get stilettos on my entire right hand (I’m left-handed) with Ed Hardy-inspired artwork on two of them.

 

By the time I left work on Friday evening, I had managed to get four of them decorated Ed Hardy style. (I’m really proud of my thumb.)

 

Every Friday my “in-laws” (not technically married so not really in-laws) host “pizza and beer night” at a local pizza parlor. This is a thinly disguised ploy to bribe their children (my BF and his sister) and their families to visit them at least once a week.

 

My step-niece-in-law — all of 10 years old — emphatically announced that I had “the coolest nails EVAR!”

 

It had taken the better part of one week for me to adjust to the stilettos and I was pretty proud of them — and myself for not being entirely crippled with them. So I was planning on doing the nails on my left hand to match.

 

Yesterday morning it all came to a screeching — or rather a screaming, sobbing — end.

 

We were preparing to load the dogs up in the back of the Xterra to take them out to the BF’s parents’ place: 2 1/2 acres of grass and mud and pool and dog-friends to play with until they are an exhausted mess that will spend the rest of the afternoon laying listlessly on the living room floor while the humans enjoy their Sunday afternoon.

 

The dogs knew they were going to get to go somewhere and they were having a very hard time sitting and waiting patiently while we loaded up all the things we had to take out there.

 

The BF walked out the door after telling the dogs to “stay” and I followed, trying to close the door behind me before the dogs could banzai the threshold and go running willy-nilly through the neighborhood. (They aren’t very well-trained.) Alas, the big one had his head through the door before I could pull it closed. In one terrible, excruciating heartbeat, I reached for the maverick dog with the left hand while trying to pull the door closed — thus preventing a second dog escape — with the stiletto’d hand.

 

Then everything went black.

 

It didn’t break — oh how I wish it had broken! It got caught between the door and the door jam, squishing the finger just below the cuticle while yanking the nail upward and back. It really hurts, and it’s a bloody mess around the cuticle and under the nail.

 

This was my greatest fear of wearing stilettos — I don’t lead a stiletto-friendly lifestyle. I have no idea how long it will take before I can even stand to shorten the nail, let alone use my right index finger for anything. I have a two-day educational event next month. I wonder if it’ll be back to normal by then? Will I even be able to work this week? Needless to say, I don’t think I’ll be doing the other hand.

 

Such a shame. I was so proud of them and looking forward to showing them off for the next few weeks!

 



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