My own fingernails: bitten, crumbly, bleeding wrecks. Been biting them since I was 8, and, although, they sometimes surface in moments of great calm and look sorta normal-like, they can only be kept presentable with the help of regular manicures, which I have deemed an unconscionable luxury.
Our dog's fingernails: strong, long, healthy, capable of putting deep grooves in the lovely pinewood floors of our apartment.
One of us is getting their nails trimmed and filed professionally tomorrow.
The other one is bringing the dog treats.
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Update: actually, due to a last-minute meeting, Beloved Husband did the bringing of dog treats. And the walking of dog. And the feeding of dog. And the dressing of dog's small cut on his paw. I will be done with rehearsal soon, I promise.
You should really be concerned that me and the dog are conspiring against you when you're not around.
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