The Day I Almost Became a Cripple (The dramatic telling of the tale about the girl with the fake nails.)
So as a kid, I was a strenuous nail biter. Okay you have five seconds to tell me how grossed out you are. Okay back to me. Yes it was a disgusting habit and yes I have grown out of it. But despite my ever so monstrous ways, I was so determined to break the habit. I tried not-so-revolting anti nail biting lacquer (its taste I unsurprisingly became immune to) and even painting my nails a fun colour to deter myself from ruining them. Yeah maybe that made them look worse but hey here I was thinking I was being innovative. But I didn’t notice a change until I had the insane brainwave to use fake nails. It was genius. Not only was I unable to physically access my nails, but I couldn’t remove the fake nails even if I tried because of the insanely strong, acidic glue that was keeping them on. And it worked! My 14 year old self beamed as she noticed a slight change over the coming days. But unfortunately for me, this story doesn’t have a happy ending.
It was week two of operation grow-back-Millie’s-nails-before-they-become-permantly-deformed and I faced my first crisis. A nail came off. (#pray4me) I wiped back the tears of disappointment and thought to myself “Oh thats ok I’ll just glue it back on!” But little did I know I had forgotten to replace the lid back on the pot of nail glue (second crisis) and the opening of the pot, which was a thin spout for accuracy reasons, was sealed up. Instead of consulting an adult like any sane pubescent teen, I took matters into my own hands and began sawing off the sealed spout like my life depended on it. Boy was I happy when I could finally use the glue again! So I sat down on my bed ready to cure my broken nail and carefully applied a solid amount of glue to the nail. “Success!” I roared. The nail was on! No one could ever tell it had fallen off as I had done such a master job. Moments later the nail had become the least of my worries as I felt a growing, burning pain on my legs. I looked down slowly. I had somehow managed to spill the acidic superglue, which was balancing on my legs, all over my pasty little thighs. It felt like a scene from a movie where the main guy turns cautiously around to see a huge monster about to maul him. Obviously you can’t compare that type of movie moment to mine. Mine was soo much worse.
I panicked. My legs were together at the time so I physically couldn’t walk. And the pain was getting stronger. So a frightened, anxious and wounded wannabe beautician hobbled out of her bedroom to seek help. Images of hospital beds and ambulances flew through my mind. I would be the burden of the family as my parents would have to aid me for the rest of my life. I would be a cripple in a wheelchair. I would be a motivational speaker at schools. I would never be the same.
I approached my mum in a calm (ish) manner and coolly leant against the wall so as to hide the fact that my LEGS WERE GLUED TOGETHER. I prepared my speech.
“Mum. You’re gonna want to sit down for this.” (Idiot Mills. She already is sitting down. Bad start. Ok. Shake it off.)
“Is everything ok?”
“I ACCIDENTALLY GLUED MY LEGS TOGETHER WITH NAIL GLUE AND I CAN’T GET THEM APART.” It came out in a jumble but the message was clear. “I need urgent medical attention from a professional!” (Not to outdo yourself Mills but your mum is a nurse. So again, probably the wrong thing to say if we are trying to be dramatic.)
Silence.
“HAHAHAHAHA,” was all I remember hearing as I internally rethought the severity of my incident.
“I’ll go and grab the nail polish remover and go remover. You stay here,” my mum said in between bursts of laughter.
2 hours later I was a free woman.
(For those wondering, I have a giant butterfly shaped scar on my leg from this occurrence. I feel like its symbolic of my freedom to walk again after my tragedy.)
