As for good-nail-nutrition, well, I’ve got a secret of my own one that none of the experts seems to understand, admit, or even believe. So I guess you’ll just have to try for yourselves, find out for yourselves, and for heaven’s sake, if it works for you, let the world know. That little secret is bread. That’s right. Good old bread, plain and simple. Plain and simple may be the answer, because naturally I’m referring to natural bread, preferably homemade and baked with unbleached flour, perhaps a bit of wheat germ, or sprouts. Natural.
I learned about bread when I was going through my withdrawal symptoms from the low-carbohydrate deprivation diet I’d been on, after that clever little body of mine (it was little) turned on me and began to turn my protein into carbohydrates and put fat on me! My nails began to break, as I’ve told you. Viciously. And painfully. And to the quick. And, what is worse, there were infections and all sorts of horrors more real than simple vanity. Then along came Christmas and my annual journey to my beloved Southland biscuits, grits, and all. (Remember?) It was at this point that I bid a temporary good-bye to my friend (he is, and I am his fan) Dr. Atkins and decided, “The hell with it. I’m going home and eat. Everything my mother sets before me!” (It isn’t too often one gets a mother’s home-cooked meal, and, while I’d firmly resisted in visits past, this time I’d had enough of the experiments and the greater and greater stringency imposed on me in order to stop the tide of fat that had inexplicably begun to show up, no matter what I or my doctor did.)
So eat I did. (Not overeat, you understand.) But I ate a modicum of everything that everyone else ate. Most especially biscuits. Now the South is where biscuits taste like no place else in the world. And
I am, and always have been, a bread freak. Sweets you can have (I suppose I’m lucky there; I can take ’em or leave ’em and mostly would rather leave). But bread loaded with butter? That’s my idea of a real Christmas present. Believe it or not, after only one week’s vacation from dieting, my nails began to grow, visibly so and back to where they had been. (In my line of work, long nails are not so practical, and, while typing may stimulate growth, it’s pretty hard to hit the keys with talons.)
I was as puzzled as all the experts I’ve consulted since. Some of them even refused to believe it. But there were those nails staring back at them, strong, healthy, and apparently there to stay. I concluded that the bread I was eating the good stuff was loaded with B vitamins, and while I can’t find a soul who will admit that B vitamins work directly on the nails, I don’t see why they shouldn’t.
Your nails are practically the same composition as your hair. And we know how important the Beautiful B’s are to that. So why not admit they work wonders toward making strong nails as well? Face it. It’s a delicious sort of treatment.
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