My father had corrugated fingernails. Ridged. I used to like to run my tiny fingers across the ribbings on his nails. I didn't know of the word genetics.
So here on my own hands are my father's corrugated nails. They snap, peel, break. I used to polish them, but the polish didn't hold. I used a product called Ridge Filler made for people with wretched nails like mine. It took off the surface of the nail after several applications.
Visiting my daughter one day, she noticed my nails, and said, "Mom, your nails are awful." Like I didn't know. We were shopping at a strip mall, and she pulled me into a nail emporium, and said, " Give my mother gel nails." Of course I protested, of course she prevailed.
I walked out with the most exquisite set of fingernails. And as I handed my plane ticket to the person at the gate, she said, "What beautiful nails." Honest. I flew home stroking the slick surface of those nails.
I've kept them up. They are not fake, but I don't know what gel is. Layers of something that builds up the nails, and never peels off. In my neighborhood Vietnamese gentlemen as well as ladies ply the trade. They chatter to each other, and pay no attention to the client while they do their magic with the brushes. They encourage you to come back every two weeks, but I wait until the nails have grown out significantly, then I have a "fill in". I've tried many neutral colors from the assortment: bubble bath, bubble gum, ballet slippers, East Hampton. I liked East Hampton because of the association with my other daughter, but they don't have it any more. Well, she's not there any more either. Maybe they have LA?
One little problem. The fingernails are so thick, there is no picking up a coin that has fallen to the floor. Small sacrifice.
--Florence
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