Nail Breaking - Part II

I wanted to clarify for my gentle readers that in case anybody wonders, I am not a girly girl - and most of the time you can find my nails in various stages of growth, usually quite uneven. What I was complaining about that night when I wrecked my car was the violence, and depth with which my nail was ripped off the top of my pinkie finger. It tore it down in the quick where it smarts. But I wanted to share with you that specific part of the experience, as it has me laughing now days afterwards. The Sheriff's officer that stopped to help out was checking us over with a flashlight - the blood matted in my hair over my ear, whether my pupils were dialated - and I was in shock so I didn't feel anything at that point - not my nose, my arm, NADA. But the first thing I remember feeling pain from was that darn ripped fingernail. I said to the officer, "I broke my fingernail." He turned to his partner, without missing a beat and said, "Bob, I think we're going to have to call for transport." Yeah, funny cop on the side of the road - the guy should be a comedian!!!!