Ex-Files: When Your Wife's Ex Has Killer Nails

Brazzers

Scott Nails, Desiree Dulce Pic(s)

The entire point of the barbecue was for me to finally meet Scott Nails, my wife’s notoriously charming ex-boyfriend, a man whose very name now felt like a personal challenge. From the moment he arrived, flashing a disarming smile, I understood the subtle legend that had preceded him all these years. He was effortlessly cool, of course, but my focus, my absolute undoing, became his impossibly perfect hands. His fingernails were immaculate ovals, buffed to a high-gloss sheen that caught the afternoon sun each time he gestured with his craft beer. My own calloused, bitten-down stubs retreated into my pockets in a wave of self-conscious defeat. My wife, the wonderful Desiree Dulce, watched our interaction with an amused, knowing glint in her eye, as if she were observing a nature documentary. Scott then proceeded to flawlessly flip burgers with a surgeon’s precision, not a trace of grease daring to mar his flawless manicure. I, in a moment of tragicomic contrast, immediately fumbled a plate of potato salad, creating a mess that required a frantic, crumpled-napkin response. Later, as we said our overly-polite goodbyes, I saw Desiree give Scott’s arm a familiar, friendly squeeze, her own manicure—a sweet, simple color I’d chosen—looking suddenly childish next to his masterclass in grooming. That evening, a new and peculiar insecurity was born, not from jealousy of their past, but from the glaring inadequacy of my own cuticles. The ghost of boyfriends past, it turns out, doesn’t always haunt you with old love letters, but sometimes with the silent, gleaming superiority of a perfect set of nails.