I was once a terrible nail-biter. Perhaps I still am, in the same way that teetotallers are just on-the-wagon alcoholics. I still have bouts of nervous or boredom-induced biting, but I have managed to find relief in nail polish.
This is probably the hardest part for me. I’m a bit of a fidget. Or someone will pull out a bag of chips and however delicately I try to remove a tasty treat I’ll always end up smudging colour across the bag or studding my fresh nails with chippy crumbs. I have also been known to make the fatal mistake of doing my nails to close to going out, in a last-minute ditch for perfection, in which case you promptly smear or scuff one as you perform the outfit-change frenzy dance. But the worst scenario is the sudden need to go to the toilet 5 minutes after you’ve finished. Guaranteed destruction of at least one hand, no matter how delicately you pull up your pants. It might humour you to know I once called for bf to come and do it for me. Ahhh couple life. Nothing is sacred.
So now it’s a part of my regular routine. I have a cupboard full of colours (many of them ridiculously similar in shade, as I am often drawn to the same colours but seem to think if it’s a different brand it might somehow be different). The other end of the routine however is to pick it all off a few days later. Usually while bored at work. If you get enough layers you can just about peel the whole nail off in one piece and it is OH SO satisfying. Probably not the best for the integrity of the nail, but I soon get it covered up with the next shade. God forbid that I do not fix things up within the next 24 hours, because a bare nail is prone to inspection, picking, and eventual biting.