Over the years, I’ve never paid much attention to my toenails. They just hung out at the end of my toes, requesting no special attention.
Actually, they were self-sustaining. A number of times, I dropped heavy stuff on my toes. A nail or two would turn black and then fall off. Weeks later, I’d look down and fresh, youthful nails would be staring back at me.
Recently, my nails have turned on me. They used to be bright and flesh colored. Now they resemble rippled potato chips.
None of this would bother me if I didn’t need to trim my toenails so I can “snaglessly” put on my socks.
First off, the distance between my hands and feet appears to have increased. It’s getting tough to make the connection. Then my trusty trimmer has a challenge of engaging the nail just at the right depth and angle. When I think I’m spot on, it takes my greatest thumb and index finger strength to execute the cut. Often I miss completely – or slice into my toe.
This blog isn’t exactly a nail-biter. But I bet the majority of my senior friends share my frustration.