Gak!

I know I just did a WTF post, but it seems like lately the world is just full of WTFs.

The other day, I read an article about the world's record holder for the longest fingernails. Before she was in a car crash this past February (which apparently broke some of her nails), each nail was almost 3 feet long. The 68-year-old great-grandmother had been growing them for thirty years.

The first thought that went through my mind when I saw her picture was "GAH! MY EYES! MY EYES!"

The second was, "How in the heck did she drive a car like that? It's a wonder she didn't have LOTS of accidents!"

Well, the article didn't actually say if she was driving or not, so I guess maybe we could infer that she was a passenger in the vehicle.

And of course---being me---the next question I had was, "How in the world did she wipe her own ass?"

Even with one of those long wipey-stick things you can get from a medical supply store, her nails would still get in the way, and unless she had 5-foot-long arms, I can't see how she could maneuver it.

So did she have someone wipe her butt for her like Henry VIII or did she just sit in her own fug all the time?

Was the wiper a relative? A paid companion? How much would a professional butt-wiper make these days, considering that medical insurance or medicare prolly wouldn't cover a home health-aide worker for someone who is willfully disabled?

How did she bathe? Dress? Or even sleep, for Pete's sakes? Did she hang off the rafters like a bat at night? Is she married? Could you imagine crawling into bed with those at the end of the day?

Since the article said she had been growing her nails for 30 years, and they were almost 3-feet long each, I did an off-the-cuff calculation of nail growth of around 12 inches every 10 years. So at age 48, her nails would have been a foot long (Can you smell a Mythbusters experiment coming on?).

On Sunday, I decided to try it out. Just for a little while to see what it would be like. We had company coming Monday for a cookout, and I needed to get cracking with the cleaning.

But first I needed to gather some information.

Honey, I asked. If I broke both my arms, would you be willing to wipe my butt for me for 6 weeks or so?

"I don't see how I'd have much of a choice".

That's my man. He's put up with me, my kids, miscellaneous spot-welding in the middle of the night, my nose-hose and other downright annoying habits for the last 17 years.

What if I was uh---disabled on purpose? Would you wipe my butt for twenty or thirty years?

He gave me the hairy eyeball. "Only if you were getting a million dollars annually and I got special seats at the Superbowl every year."

Well yeah, I get it. True love only goes so far. I wouldn't wipe HIS butt for 30 years either.

So I duct-taped wooden skewers to my fingers. I felt like Attila Scissorhands. It lasted about 3 hours.

Could I wash dishes? Not really. I had to "palm" the glasses, turn them over, and try to grip them from the bottom to put them in the washer. Then I had to kind of grab the scrub brush in the joint between my thumb and first finger to scrub plates, and damn, that hurt!

Could I wipe the counters? Took at LEAST twice the time it would normally take. Had to wipe sideways to try to get the edges, and I could only go as far as 10-inches from the wall and between the microwave, etc.

Could I make the bed? Forget it. Then again, I rarely make the bed, so I guess it doesn't matter.

Could I vacuum? Ok, I was able to get that under control. But if my "nails" were any longer, I don't think it would happen.
Could I do Laundry? No. Could I empty the garbage cans? No. Could I pick up dog poop? No (and amazingly enough, the dookie wasn't from Little Missy, but from our OTHER little yorkie, who is misbehaving in protest for bringing the interloper into HER home).

Could I skewer a poopy little dog and roast her over an open flame?

Absolutely.

Could I poke the men in my household to do the stuff I couldn't do? Yep.

Now came the bathroom test. I was able to slide my pants down with my palms. But when it came time to wipe? Gah!

Tried to wipe down the front way. The "nails" ran into the side of the bowl. Tried the back way. Same problem.

I ended up standing up, kicking off one pant leg and putting my foot on the stool.

Yeah, that worked. I also stabbed myself in the thigh.

Then I couldn't figure out how to put my pants back on again. I shuffled over to the bathroom door, cracked it and called, "Honey? Sweetie? Could you come here and help me for a minute?"

Hubby poked his head in the door. Took in me with my "nails", my pants down around an ankle---and zeroed in on the box of Tampons that happened to be sitting on the counter (just got them from the store and hadn't put them away yet).

"No." he said. "Oh HELL no!" And slammed the door.

So I tore those suckers off and called it a day. How in the heck could a person function with 1-foot fingernails, not to mention 3-FOOT fingernails?

Fingernail Woman says that the car crash (and subsequent nail breakage) "robbed her of her identity".

I'd say it more or less "robbed" her of being waited on hand and foot like she's been for the last 20 or so years. I can't believe the level of self-indulgence it would take to have this kind of hobby or how a family could enable it by decades of servitude.

Guess it's time to pull yourself up by those bootstraps, Lady.

All on your own, this time.