Fingerling Ling Ling

He’s sitting across from me at the table and I can’t help but look at his hands. Specifically, I’m staring at his nails. It’s as if he was ravenous after his meal, and decided to gnaw his fingers for dessert.

As good-looking as he is, his hands take him down a notch in the appearance category. And, I don’t want those nails anywhere near me because they look like they can leave a nasty scratch.

Ever since I was a young boy, my father always told me that your hands and your shoes say a lot about your appearance. Even the best suit, sweetest-smelling cologne, or snazziest haircut can’t hide the fact that you have hands that look worse-for-wear.

I understand his point.

In his youth, he didn’t have a lot of money to spend on his appearance, so he took care of what he had. As a manual labourer, his hands could get roughed-up, but he took care of them because even though he worked with them, he didn’t want to give the impression that he didn’t care about them.

Do you want someone to shake your hand who looks like they’ve been touching hydrochloric acid? Not me. Money can’t hide the fact that you don’t care about the basics.

So, my hands are always well-kept. They’re (typically) well-moisturized. The nails are trimmed and shaped, clean, with no sludge between them.


Ling Ling can’t do what I do for the price, which is, of course, nothing, because I take care of them at home and not at a salon.

The shoes are another story for another time…