The Glorious Train Wreck Mom

This is a safe space for all train wrecks. Except here, we don't give you a puppy and a latte. We give you sarcasm and humor.

There’s a whole lot of talk about getting nails done lately. And I don’t understand one bit of it. I know I’m a nail biter, so it’s never been a big deal for me. But, we’re in the middle of a global pandemic. I think there are slightly more important things going on. But, no. Karen wants to speak to the manager of Covid so she can have her patriotic claws ready for the family BBQ.

Are you kidding me? Get the fuck over yourself.

Get some nail clippers and a file. I’m sure you have some polish in your house. Open up pinterest. Watch a YouTube tutorial.

No, it won’t look professional. And if someone brings that up, make fun of their DIY haircut.

I do understand the whole concept of treat yourself and self care. But in the middle of Jumangi Level 7, self care takes on a new meaning. It’s no longer Starbucks on paydays and sushi for lunch.

Self care now means caring enough about yourself to not catch something that will kill you. The least is not catching something that will kill someone you love. Can you imagine the guilt you would feel knowing you killed Gramma? That’s not self care. That’s terrible. And all for what? Your nails. Your vanity.

We’re not going to be living in a future history lesson forever. Eventually it will be 2021. And then we can move on into the new normal.

Until then, paint your own damn nails.

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