Thumbing Through My Options

I’ve lost my right thumb nail.

I don’t mean I’ve misplaced it, or anything like that. It fell off.

Compared with the losses many people have suffered in recent months that seems trivial. No wait. It is trivial. But Sunday mornings are a lot more difficult because I use that thumb to button up a dress shirt.

If this goes on much longer I’ll start preaching in a sweatshirt.

The thumbnail fell off in early December. Ever since October most of it has been dark purple except the edge. That little bit looked so out of place one of my granddaughters picked up a purple marker and colored the thin strip that was pink. Maybe she thought I hadn’t finished the job of getting my nails done.

It all started when I played pickleball in mid-october. I tripped over my own feet and somehow squeezed my thumb between the racket and the parquet floor. It bled a little but it didn’t hurt for half an hour, then it hurt like all get out. A day later everything was back to normal except everyone who shook hands with me said, “What’d you do to your thumb?”

Anyway, back in December one side of the thumbnail came loose. I got it caught on the edge of a drawer and 95% of it came off all at once. That got my attention. It was billy-ho and don’t swear because you’re in public. Then I looked down, gritted my teeth, and ripped it off.

Almost. There was as thin strip of nail attached to a loose piece of flesh. I tried to ignore it but it got caught on everything. So I grabbed the tweezers. Kids, don’t try this at home. I took a good look at what I was about to do, took a deep breath, and though it was difficult as all get out to get out, once it was done and the tears evaporated and

I could see again it was a relief.

And you’ll be glad to know that I played pickleball a couple weeks ago with absolutely no ill effects. Not that I wasn’t worried. A lot. But my daughter-in-law asked very nicely and she said we’d all get to meet her aunt’s new boyfriend, so what the heck, let’s give it a try. I had different, wider shoes on, and maybe that, and the fact that I’m mostly immobile, made a difference.

Now mind you, I’ve lost toenails several times, like when I’ve gone hiking many miles and repeatedly jammed the big toe into the end of my boots while heading downhill. Generally what happens is that a couple months later the toenail has pulled away from the skin, and gets caught when I’m pulling on a sock, and voila, done and done, there I am. Just fine. More or less.

So anyway, there I was, trying to button up a dress shirt for Sunday worship, and without a nail I could not get purchase on the button. I could not push the tiny buttons through the collar. I couldn’t get a grip on my bowtie so I could tie it. I questioned the basic architecture of dress shirts. Meanwhile, Western Civilization trembled on the brink.

Then I gave up, and grabbed a sweatshirt. An old one. You could tell it was an old sweatshirt. It celebrates the Rams winning the Super Bowl. Talk about ancient history.

Well, I never get out the door without my wife Jennie looking me over, and she took no excuses. No Sunday sweatshirt.

But she did help me button up the shirt.