Hangnails.

Picture it: you're going about your day. All is seemingly normal, by most daily standards. The sun is shining, there's a light breeze in the air, you just might be enjoying your favorite beverage. Then your cell phone rings. Or you need to grab your keys. Maybe your wallet. While inserting your hand into the pocket of your pants (or purse, if you're a lay-dee), you feel THAT PAIN. That twinge of panic that suddenly makes you retract your hand faster than Bush can shoot down a marriage bill. That, my friends, is the hangnail. If there is a god, I'd imagine that he/she/it gets an insane amount of pleasure watching the fleshy miscreants fiddle around with these inconveniencing little devils.

Naturally, when the hangnail strikes, you're usually at work. Maybe at the gym. Perhaps on a nice walk around town. Never is there a fingernail clipper handy. The hangnail knows this. They ALWAYS wait until you're as far away from your bathroom/bedroom/kitchen(?) or wherever you keep such grooming devices.

Once you get home to clip the vile appendage, it's more than likely already caused you so much pain and snagging on your clothing that cutting it almost seems futile. But you do it anyway. The hangnail has won. Again.