The nail tale

Last night while vigorously tugging on the blanket with my left leg my toe finally burst through the raggedy pair of socks I have been wearing for what seems like at least a month now. I was a little taken aback. I had, it seems, forgotten what my feet looks like in reality. Wiggling the finger under my torchlight I noticed the nail for the first time. Weak though my memory seemed to be about the feet I was definite that the nail, which now resembled a stale piece of bread, was quite respectable the last time I saw it.
 
I was a little concerned. Under the light I surveyed the guilty party with unforeseen curiosity. The nail, which I presume was a polite pink till some time back, was now of an uncannily stormy colour. The thing looked so appalling that I couldn’t get my eyes off it.
 
Next morning I was off to see my sister…

 Everyone has a sister who didn’t bite her nails even when watching PSYCHO. At 15 when adolescence made me finally decide to quit assaulting my nails I turned to my sister for guidance. She was 13 and had the nails of primma donna at the time.
 
I had fungal infection, she said, crinkling her nose a bit to express distaste, but otherwise as confident as a surgeon. Hmm.. I said. And what did unfortunate little beings with nail fungus do to improve their terrible condition? ‘Anti-fungal paint’ she said casually ‘easily available, so you won’t have a good reason to not buy it’. I glared at her menacingly but it was too late the ball had already begun to roll. ‘And do try and get a pedicure done once in a while now P …God knows you are old enough…at this rate you will have no nails left at 30….looking after nails isn’t too tough you know, even utter nincompoops like yourself can manage it without much hassle…’. I was looking for an easy to reach doorway to get the hell out, but my sister had me spun tightly into her web. From the corner of my eye I spied her huffing and puffing about the subject still. She wasn’t one of those who gave up easily. It was no use; she was going to make me do exactly everything she wanted me to.
   
So the next morning she called me a half a dozen times to find out if I had in fact bought the fungal nail paint after all. When that was done she harrowed me till I simply collapsed into giving myself a pedicure. It was easier than it had been the last time I tried it.

This is what I did: -

• Washed my feet clean carefully scrubbing under the nails with a nailbrush (I used an old toothbrush actually) to get the ugly grime out.
• Now I soaked my feet in a bucket of warm (NOT hot) water. Sis advised me to drop in a pinch of salt and some liquid soap. She also asked me to throw in a drop or two of some beauty oil, but unfortunately I had none
• After having let the feet soak in the water I scrubbed scrupulously around the heels with a pumice stone. (I insisted that I didn’t need to do this since the heels were not my problem zone. But I could feel her glare over the phone and therefore didn’t continue with my argument.)
• I dried my feet on a towel, rubbed in a mixture of lemon juice, olive oil and sugar granules and rinsed again. 
• Now came the hard part. With a nail cutter I carefully trimmed and filed my dead nail and the others. 
• After rubbing in a flowery foot cream I applied the anti-fungal paint and hung up the phone peacefully.