Learner Dad: Cutting my toenails to keep my wife off Tinder 

Picture: iStock

I’m pretty much my father at this stage.

I already have his sigh as I sit down, the grunt when I try to get back up, the folding my hands over crossed legs that he used to do, the grumbling at the news. It can’t be long before I take to wearing a cardigan over a shirt and tie on days I’m not planning to leave the house.

The latest bit of Dad-copying is all about fingernails. I have this memory of my father out the back in all weather, clipping his nails. No one else had to leave the house when clipping or cutting nails, but my father was sent outside.

I can remember feeling sorry for him, banished with his talons. Until I found myself outside yesterday, clipping away at my own.

It started when I wore sandals for the first time this summer, and my wife basically downloaded Tinder with the aim of getting away from me. OK, what she actually said was I should cut my toenails, but I could see that this was an important moment in our marriage.

I tracked down the clippers and headed out the back. It was a sandals day, so I didn’t care. I took a seat and got clipping  in sunshine and a gentle breeze from the west. I thought of Dad. He didn’t always have such good nail-clipping weather.

I thought of my  kids. Will they remember me out the back, out of sight, just the sharp crack of stainless steel clipping to give away what I’m doing.

Will they feel sorry for me, as I did for my Dad? Well, they shouldn’t.

I enjoyed being out there, trimming my nails. 

There’s something soothing about a bit of grooming, particularly when your feet are out.

Now that I think about it, my Dad used to pull a chair out and try and find a bit of sun. He wasn’t sulking at being banished with the clippers. He was getting away from us for a while to do a bit of self-maintenance.

Men don’t get enough of that. I don’t mean the kind of grooming and hair styling that is second nature to guys under 30. That’s usually high-pressure stuff, where you are getting ready to go out and show yourself to the world. (That didn’t affect guys my age back in the day , we were the t ake-m e -or-leave-m e g eneration.)

What I’m talking about here is mindful grooming. (With a name like that, I should probably start a podcast.) It’s the kind of thing my wife does on the sofa in the evening time, brushing her hair, or painting her nails, just for the craic. I never bother with that, and it’s my loss.

Once I had my toenails in a good enough state to keep my wife off Tinder for another month, I set about cutting my fingernails . They weren’t that long, but they were getting there, and it’s very irritating when your nails get slightly too long.

It usually happens overnight. I go to bed, they’re fine, I get up, and they’re scrawling me like some daft act of self-vengeance.

So I sat there clipping my fingernails for far longer than I should have. I could hear my kids inside, but they didn’t come near me because you don’t want to be around someone cutting their nails.

My wife probably had a job for me to do, but there was no point in asking because you never interrupt someone when they’re cutting their nails. That’s one job you have to finish.

My father was a man who always wore a gentle smile on his face, suggesting he knew that everything was going to be alright. Looking back now, he had that smile dialled up to 11 whenever he took his place in the back garden, clippers in hand.

It’s my turn now. I might get myself a nail file, actually. My father had one, and it’s a great way to drag another 20 minutes out of nail grooming.

I still have a bit to learn about being the old man.