Eco-Nails

My nails are pathetic. I eat an almost exclusive organic diet, no sodas, no junk foods, no processed foods, nothing delicious ever. OK, that’s a little extreme, there are delicious things that are not junk or processed, but you know what I mean. Still, my nails are shameful.

As much as I hate what the likes of KFC and McDonald’s stand for, their terrible treatment of the animals they use in their production, the use of High Fructose Corn Syrup (soon to be named ‘corn sugar’ I hear, in the hopes that we are all stupid and wont put two and two together and figure out is just as hideous for us), and the fact that each bite of a burger is a heart-attack waiting to happen, I cannot deny that I love a good filet-o-fish, or a piece of the Colonles original recipe.

I will say though, that I do not indulge. At least I haven’t in at least a year. That’s right, I fight the urge like a crack addict recently released from rehab. I white knuckle it. So props to me, right? Props to me for putting those suffering animals and my body first.

Here’s the thing though. For all the healthy eating, the sulphate-free, petrochemical-free shampoos and aborted-baby-free face creams, the non toxic ways I rid rodents from my home, you would think, you would think, that I could get some luxuriously healthy, long nails out of the deal. But nooooo… that would be too much to ask from the Gods of beauty, I guess.

My nails are feeble, they break at the drop of a hat, rip if I grow them past my cuticle, and when they do grow 1/4mm, they are all growing at different lengths anyway and look hideous. So here’s my dark secret. I am a member of the ‘tacky acrylic nail club’. Yes, really. I do have the lady do them short and as natural looking as possible, but I’m still in the club, there’s just no denying it.For all my eco-friendly talk, I wear toxic crap on my nails. How hypocritical is that?

I despise ‘fakeness’. Fake boobs, fake lips, fake surprised-look-on-your-face-have-you-had-a-face lift….like, yesterday? No, let me clarify. I’m not judging those that go in for a little lift here and there, those that are trying to help mother nature along a little, what’s it to me? I don’t care what they do…I wouldn’t do it, but to each his own, right?

I’m talking about those obviously fake people who get everything possible done and then when they have it all done they go in for something called ‘vaginal rejuvenation’. Really, it exists, look it up (I couldn’t bring myself to link to it here). It’s really not to late for your 65-year-old husband to get himself a 18-year-old young thing after all, and he doesn’t need to leave the house to do it. Who knew?

And whats worse, they look at the likes of you and me and compare themselves and expect me to compliment them on “how good your look for your age”. C’mon people, you don’t look good, your surgeon does great work (or not). There is a world of difference. My 6-year-old can work that one out.

I digress. Where was I? My nails. I want to walk the talk, I really do, but my pride. (yes I said it) wont let me walk around with stubby, pudgy, short, uneven, nails. It just wont. So I wrestle with it on occasion. Like now.

And then as I contemplate this, I leave the store with my reusable, recycled bag. Its filled with my lunch of organic, gluten-free, pesticide-free, animal cruelty free, humus filled, sustainably grown vegetable wrap and my BPA-free, aluminium bottle of water that was filled at home from my faucet.

I mull it over a little more as I sit down to eat, on my bamboo-grown chairs and place my food on my recycled wooden table.

Somehow, I think I’m doing OK.

(you can check out all PETA is doing here, great organization!)

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