For six years, I’ve been finding nail clippings on the floor. Not periodically, but constantly. Some of these little devils are embedded into the fibers of the carpet, others hidden in plain sight on the hardwood. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t eyed my roommates, hoping to squeeze a confession out of them with my stare.
Then, a breakthrough. Walking by my roommate’s bedroom, I heard the familiar snapping of a nail clipper. I stepped back into the door to see him sitting on his bed, clipping his fingernails and catching them in his hand.
Rattled, I felt the need to question him. He thought it was bizarre that I thought it was bizarre. I found that bizarre. I pressed him on the living room nail clippings, but he said he doesn’t venture out of his room to clip his nails. He added that he’s pretty sure that our other roommate bites and spits his nails. I had unearthed something I wasn’t ready for.
Like any upstanding citizen, I clip my fingernails over the sink. I clip my toenails over the toilet or a garbage can. I hadn’t even considered the alternatives. I’m still not considering them because I’m not an animal. This shouldn’t have to be one of those things where you realize that your normal isn’t everyone else’s normal. This is binary.
There’s a right way and a wrong way to do this. Location is everything, but your tools play an important role as well.
