The Apartment Drama: The Rogue Fingernail Clipping

Apartment Drama

It was a dull afternoon, I had just returned from an epic journey to the post office.  The walk is not bad, the lineup was crazy.  The old woman in front of me kept exclaiming to those of us in the line that she and her friends were going to go streaking, very nakedly, just to see what it was like.

Typical people of this town, just trying to cause a stir.  Needless to say, it was disturbing news and I’ve already digressed from the whole point of this story.

Now back to the point, speaking of causing a stir.  Yes, that was how I was planning on segueing  back around to the actual story in an understandable fashion.

I was sitting in my room, Gene was in the living room doing whatever it is he does on the floor out there.  He claims he is exercising,  but all I can tell is that there’s a lot of moaning and it sounds painful.

“Bri?!” he calls out in a semi panicked, semi questioning tone.

I really don’t care that he calls me Bri.  Bri is an abbreviation that is reserved for my family and good friends.  Not everybody can just barge into that club.   Nevertheless, I wander out to see what could possibly be the problem this time.

“Have you been cutting your fingernails in the living room?”  Gene asks, he is dead serious.

“No!” I reply, and since it is apparent that he must know, I add this. “I cut them in the bathroom.  Cutting them in the living room would be gross!”

Gene proceeds to hand me the nail clipping, “I found this on my  pillow.”  Said pillow was lying on the floor. I examine the nail fragment.  It is much wider than any of my nails and has a much better curve than I can ever get when I cut mine.

“This nail is not mine.”  I said conclusively.  “It was probably one of yours.”

“Are you sure?” Gene rebuts.


I then threw the nail fragment in the garbage amid protests from Gene attempting to articulate that the nail fragment was not his.

Unless Gene invited his friends, or perhaps a special someone, over for some nail clipping party that he had forgotten about, there’s no way the nail is not his.

The body of evidence (beyond what I’ve already stated) for my defense and subsequent claim is extensive.  To save time, I’ll mention the important things.

First, I wear socks when I walk around the apartment, so even if it was a toenail, it couldn’t have been mine.

Second, Gene found it on one of HIS pillows.  I have not, and  would never touch any of his things he uses for sleeping or exercising, or whatever else.

Third, He has wide sausage fingers.  I do not.

Case closed.

However, in Gene’s mind….it’s still a mystery.

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