We were walking through Walmart, land of the classy for sure, when Charlotte found something bright pink and sparkly on the floor. In typical three year old fashion, she picked it up to examine it. When she asked what it was, I examined it.
It was a fingernail. Not a “oh, I broke a nail” kind of fingernail. A glue-on, hot pink, fake nail.
Just like that, there was a hot pink fake nail flying through the air. Oh. My. Gross.
Charlie might be scarred for life. Momma’s reaction, coupled with seeing an entire fingernail, backside covered with yellow glue, makes her doubt the level of attachment she has to her own nails. Neither of us will ever be the same.