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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/29lCLMh:
Girl, love yourself a little bit and do not wake up at 5:30 am Tuesday morning and slug down coffee and as you’re walking to the barn look down and realize your fingernails are grown long so you bite them off like a savage because you have learned the hard way that long nails are approximately The Worst Thing on chicken processing day if you’re eviscerating.
Yes. Cut them with a nail clipper. File them. Now you have lovely short nails like back in the days when you had a girlfriend. Isn’t that nicer? That’s nicer. Spitting out nails you just ripped off with your teeth into the garbage bin as you go in to spray down the processing room with bleach at six in the morning is probably the grossest thing, and then you spend the next two weeks with ragged nail-ends that catch on everything because you are a nomadic slob and don’t know where you left your nail file.
Look at that: you can even paint them. Aw what a nice little aesthetic reward for doing some normal routine self-care!
Actually that might be a terrible idea. Note to self: bring nail polish remover with you so you can remove that shit. You don’t want to find out the hard way that the insides of chickens strip paint.
… I forsee myself at 5:30 on Tuesday morning rushing around trying to find nail polish remover and instead furiously scraping the chipping paint off with my other fingernails.
Seriously Sephora? I Come In Peas? Gross! What was I thinking?
Well, shit, I might as well put another coat on, I don’t have any remover with me now.
Girl, love yourself a little bit and do not wake up at 5:30 am Tuesday morning and slug down coffee and as you’re walking to the barn look down and realize your fingernails are grown long so you bite them off like a savage because you have learned the hard way that long nails are approximately The Worst Thing on chicken processing day if you’re eviscerating.
Yes. Cut them with a nail clipper. File them. Now you have lovely short nails like back in the days when you had a girlfriend. Isn’t that nicer? That’s nicer. Spitting out nails you just ripped off with your teeth into the garbage bin as you go in to spray down the processing room with bleach at six in the morning is probably the grossest thing, and then you spend the next two weeks with ragged nail-ends that catch on everything because you are a nomadic slob and don’t know where you left your nail file.
Look at that: you can even paint them. Aw what a nice little aesthetic reward for doing some normal routine self-care!
Actually that might be a terrible idea. Note to self: bring nail polish remover with you so you can remove that shit. You don’t want to find out the hard way that the insides of chickens strip paint.
… I forsee myself at 5:30 on Tuesday morning rushing around trying to find nail polish remover and instead furiously scraping the chipping paint off with my other fingernails.
Seriously Sephora? I Come In Peas? Gross! What was I thinking?
Well, shit, I might as well put another coat on, I don’t have any remover with me now.
