Nails Anonymous

While Stephen is back in school and while the primary benefits of my career remain "intangible" (as it was explained to me in my job interview), we've been trying especially hard to keep our frivolous spending to a minimum. I pared down pretty admirably, but ultimately I proved to be the weakest link.

I feel very vain and high-maintenance by admitting this, but this blog has functioned as a public confessional before, so I'll go ahead and spill. As I have perused my credit card statement, looking for places to trim more for next month, there is one very obvious frivolity that I insist on overlooking: regular charges to Escape Nails Spa.

I try to justify this expense: I wait three weeks between visits instead of the recommended ten days. I take myself to the low-grade salon that only charges $15 a visit, subjecting myself to chatter in a language I don't speak and the possibility of nail fungus every time. My current salon is running a 20% off sale until after Christmas. But the fact of the matter is that I can't bear the thought of attending holiday parties and visiting family with my nubby, mangled fingers in their natural state, undisguised by the lovely smooth layer of acrylic and polish. It would be as bad as the classic dream of arriving to class in my underwear.

People have asked me why I don't just stop biting my fingernails, as if it's as simple as a matter of willpower. It's as ludicrous as asking a compulsive gambler why he doesn't just stop playing slots. Nail biting is a harder habit to stop than smoking, because there are no patches. I can't even get rid of all temptation without cutting off my fingers all together, and that would be no good, for then how could I blog?

I can trace my nail biting goes back to a traumatic incident in my childhood--the time my parents made me stop sucking my thumb. Dr. Freud would say I must have experienced some trauma during my oral development phase to have such a strong fixation. (Think what you will about Freud, but this would explain my irrational attraction to the idea of smoking. Besides, Freud was a genius.) But unfortunately for this theory, my childhood was basically trauma-free.

I've tried bitter nail polishes, latex gloves, sheer willpower, self-bribery, band-aids, prayer, and basically every other home remedy I could get my hands on. Nothing works, except putting on fake nails. And that only lasts as long as the nails.

I don't know what my long-term solution will be. For now, my compromise is to keep my nails through the holidays, which happens to be as long as the sale continues at my nail salon. In January I will let them go natural, and I will be hoping for lots of opportunities to wear mittens.