I have a nail in my pocket. In one pocket. I don't know about the others because I'm afraid to look. Is this normal?
Toenail soup is never going to be my favorite but the waitress here has really cute antlers.
If a stranger asks you, politely, for your fingernail clippings, it possibly isn't me, unless I ran out before the end of the month.
What doesn't go with fruit? Nails.
I nailed a handful of jam to the wall. Last year. It's still there. Wall fell down last week though. Now I have fleas.
Nail fraud. Not a thing yet. Good time to invest.
I sing for thee, O Tammy, whoever you are. (BTW, I have your toenails in a box under my refrigerator.)
