You know you are a redneck if you’ve got a black fingernail in your wedding photo. (Sorry, Dad.) But honestly, how often do city folk end up with a black nail?
I hadn’t pondered the issue much of late, until the other day I punched a hole in my thumbnail with a bouncing nail gun. Now, part of the issue may deal more with the fact rednecks tend to throw caution to the wind in order to “git ‘er done” whether they have procured the appropriate tools for getting said job done or not. (It turns out a framing gun may not be the best tool for building a planter box).
But to meander slowly back to my point, I’ve spent the last few weeks watching my black nail grow out. (Seeing how I spend most of my time typing, I’m rather glad I didn’t lose it all together.) After musing over my black nail and the hasty choices that led to its formation, I’ve decided Rednecks have once again procured the moral high ground of sustainable living.