While sitting in the drive-through at the bank this week, I accidentally jammed my thumb against the steering wheel, tearing the nail halfway across at the quick and causing a not-very-nice word to escape from my lips and into the speaker of the teller's window.
Luckily, the only person there to hear it was my favorite teller who also let a not-very-nice word fly when describing how the recent cold temperatures had frozen his water pipes, causing them to burst all over his garage. We exchanged some more pleasantries and a few more not-very-nice words and I was on my way to...
...a convenience store where I purchased a pair of nail clippers and a tube of Super Glue with which to salvage my thumbnail. That purchase was the most queerly random combination of items purchased by a customer in that store that day, judging by the expression on the check-out girl's face.
Then, I drove to my womens' club meeting where I sat in the parking lot for ten minutes attempting to fix the damage to my nail, no dice.
The pain caused by the attempt forced me to let loose yet another not-very-nice word, this time in front of several of the more conservative women from the club. Unfortunately, their pipes appear to be in good working order and they did not reciprocate with any not-very-nice words of their own, rather; they looked at me as though I had farted in public.
I hate it when that happens.
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