"That's all any of us wants -- a nice person to hang out with until we drop dead." -Lorelai Gilmore

While my fabulously longer-than-usual fingernails had been making my hands look quite elegant for the past several months (a testament to the virtues of nutritious eating, appropriate supplements, and regular moisturizing), they had become a nuisance when it came time to write. I was making so many typographical errors, I began to believe it was the result of a chemical imbalance. In truth, it was my glamorous manicure creating a form of speech impediment, a fashion-forward dyslexia, if you will. Now that the talons are sufficiently trimmed, however, I can click away on the keyboard with ease and clarity of expression (well, one out of two).

I can also passionately dig my more conservative nails into the back of my lover without fear of leaving indelible scars on his flesh.

There's a fine line between lovemaking and bloodletting...anyone who's been in a longterm relationship will attest to that. Hanging with someone who's just a "nice person" (and Lorelai, let's please leave out the "until we drop dead" angle -- it's too "'til death do us part" for me) doesn't usually take you to that incredibly sexy, back-grazing edge. Not that I'm eager to hook up with the Bad Boy. Those guys can really damage a woman, inside and out...besides, they have no discernable character arc. No, I like a nice, smart guy who takes me on intriguing, unique, romantic dates, then gets me home and pulls out the Bad Boy (as it were), taking me right to The Edge. See, I like The Edge -- it's not only an erotically charged destination, he's one of the great guitarists of our time.

I wonder how long HIS nails are.