You get what you pay for

I have decided that the answer to all of our prison issues are answered in four words:

Lee. Press. On. Nails.

Yes, fake nails. Years ago S'mee had lovely long natural nails. Somewhere along the line the nails got shorter and shorter, making hard physical labour easier. Not to mention that I used to cut myself with the long ones while signing (ASL). Facial bleeding aside, there were more than one occasion when having shorter nails became a more sensible choice for S'mee.

Both of my daughters have long, pretty, natural nails. They work hard and seem to be able to manage life without too much difficulty. I think the trick is in the growing. Theory: If you grow them out naturally, you allow yourself the time and training to do whatever you have done in the past without hardship in the present.

If, perchance, you decide that an upcoming fancy event merits the $5.00 purchase of fake nail applications, well then, you have a problem. Going from short nails to long in a matter of minutes cripples you. It disables your digits in a way that make you look quite incapable of maneuvers heretofore simple such as uncapping toothpaste, turning a page, or opening a soda can.

Eventually the inevitable happens. Whilst in the sacred small room where one sacrifices to the porcelain god, one tries to pull back on "undies and nylons" and sees the small oval pink and white "French Manicure" thumbnail flying across the room, rendering you thumbnail-less (if that is a word). This occurrence will indeed happen, but only in the middle of the very important event you purchased the plastic nails for in the first place. If you wore them for ten weeks without a special event they would stay in place. Five minutes into a room where beautiful nails are requisite and they will pop off landing in the second tier of the fruit topiary centerpiece on the buffet table, in front of the snooty lady you were attempting to impress with your nice nails.

So, with the above information, I decree that all insubordinate prisoners be fitted with Lee Press On Nails. The inability to function on a normal basis will be a fine punishment. The frustration level will be sufficient to humble even the cockiest of meanies.

Addendum: #5 came home this weekend for the special event. While eating b-b-q chicken wings at a local restaurant she proclaimed them "embarrassing and not qualified as 'date food'." (date food: n. food one isn't afraid to eat in front of a member of the opposite gender while trying to impress that same person. "Linguine with garlic sauce is such a mess and has a strong odor, it isn't good date food.") "They are so slippery I can't even figure out how to get the food in my mouth! How do you bite these things?" She had so much sauce on her face, fingers and napkin that she had to ask the waiter for wetnaps, lots of wetnaps.

We have decided that if prisoners were fitted with fake nails and forced to eat b-b-q chicken wings that would really be punishment! Maybe they should save that for the death row guys.