I’m scared of nails. Not the kind you bang on with a hammer, I mean fingernails and toenails. Why? Because they are disgusting. I can handle the sight of fresh poop, skin deformations, barf produced by lactose intolerance (that’s the worst kind) and bloody wounds, but I can’t bring myself to accept long, dirty nails.
My fear may have started when I was 16. I was a cashier at a video store. A grimy-looking, foul-smelling man would often come in to rent porn. He had a very long coke nail. He appeared to take pride in its length, scratching himself with exaggerated motions as to show it off. One day, as I was handing him his change, he accidentally (or so he claims) cut my hand with his nail. I bled a little and freaked out, assuming he’d given me a horrible disease.
Nowadays, when meeting anyone, my attention is immediately drawn to his or her fingertips. If they are wearing sandals (ew), then I must stare at their toes. I know I shouldn’t look because I find it so unbearable, but I can’t stop myself. It’s like driving by a car accident or flipping through channels and ending up on a show about open-heart surgeries.
My fear hinders much romantic activity. I’ll never so much as consider a man who has longer than usual fingernails. As soon as those hideous, soiled and sometimes pointy things enter my field of vision, I think of them fingering me and oh God, I can’t even talk about it anymore. Thankfully I now have a gentleman friend who trims his nails regularly, but finding him was a difficult process.
The weird part is I’m not a total germophobe or a clean freak or anything like that. I could live in filth and deal with it. I once shared a 40 with a bum (in retrospect, I regret that). Now, I’m not saying everyone on the planet needs to get manicures (though it wouldn’t hurt – don’t get acrylic nails though, they’re gross too), but if you wouldn’t let your body get all nasty and dirty, why would you let your nails? CUT THEM, for my sake, I beg of you.