My yummy vice

Hello, my name is Peter, and I'm a nail-biter. An avid, relentless nail-biter. For some, it's a nervous habit that they have long wished to kick. For me though, I really enjoy it most of the time. Of course there are times that it gets a little too close and hurts for a few days, but that's never outweighed the positives. When I get a "good one," I can find myself playing with it in my mouth for up to an hour - even kinda flossing with it. Yes, I know how disgusting that sounds.

As a kid, my parents wanted me to stop biting my nails. They bought some kind of polish that promised to taste so bad that kids wouldn't put their nails anywhere near their mouths again. It did taste bad, and so extremely bitter so that every time I tasted it I made that "Oh, that's really bitter" face. Even as a kid though, I realized I had two options: stop biting my nails or learn to live with the bitter polish. I chose the latter. Eventually it wasn't that bad and my parents gave up.

As a grown-up nail-biter, I must say I've gotten pretty good at it. I have different techniques that I've almost perfected over the years. Even my wife has sheepishly admitted that I do a good job of not leaving myself with sharp and uneven nails. Here's a tip: you can use your bottom teeth as a filing board and "sand" away any roughness. Go ahead, try it out.

The only problems that I've really had biting my nails aside from occasionally making them too short is that nails sometimes come in handy. We bought some tangerines (clementines, to be more accurate) and I simply could not start the peeling process. They even have stickers on them proclaiming how easy they are to peel. I couldn't do it though; it was like using the end of a baby carrot to peel a sticker off something. That was still worth the enjoyment and sense of fulfillment I got from biting my nails.

"Fulfillment" really is a part of the whole thing. I look at my fingers at times and see longer-than-normal nails as projects. The longer they get, the more I feel like I'm dropping the ball. That's why once it's gone, and a shorter and tidier version takes its place, I get the same sense of accomplishment that one might from balancing a checkbook. (I've heard that feels good, but have no first-hand knowledge of it.)

Then I hit rock bottom. My dentist was looking at my teeth, and he casually asked, "Do you bite your nails?" "Yeah," I said, hoping his response would be, "So do I! Let's form a club!" Instead, he told me that it looked like nail-biting was causing my teeth to wear a little more than they should, and I might want to think about giving that up. I told him that I had once given it up before when it was important to me, so maybe I could do it again. Before our wedding, I told my wife that I wouldn't bite my nails for two weeks ahead of time since we might have close-up pictures of our hands. And you know what? I did it - pretty easily too. I missed my hobby, but it was for a finite amount of time and for a good cause.

The dentist's advice was almost two weeks ago, and I was kicking some serious ass. My nails started growing very quickly, and they seemed to get stronger too. In the rare occasion that I found a finger in my mouth, I was able to extricate it before any biting occurred. I began to open things more easily, and I was much more effective at scratching itches (I actually scratched too hard the first time, unaware of how to handle my new powers). I was proud of myself, even though my nails kept looking better and better to me. My wife said that I could clip them regularly, but it was a battle of wills now, and I wanted to see how long I could go. I asked her what seemed to be a logical question, and she thought it was ridiculous and disgusting - you decide: Can I still eat my nails if I use a clipper instead of my teeth? I just want to salvage one enjoyable aspect of having nails.

Last weekend, I showed my hands to Dusty, who has known me and my nail-biting ways for about 17 years now. "What the fuck?!!?" he exclaimed. I agreed. I kept looking down, wondering how those could actually be my hands. They were long enough that I felt like everyone at the poker tables was staring at them and wondering if I was protesting something in my own unique way.

I decided that I would wait to show my parents at our Hanukkah dinner tomorrow night when I see them, then use the nail clipper and attempt to throw the clippings away. Then two days ago, I fell off the wagon. I had just had a half-hour long phone altercation with a client, and I found my right index finger in my mouth. I rushed to pull it out of there, but it was too late: my teeth had met. One little bite, and I knew what I had to do. I couldn't leave a partially bitten nail out there for a couple days, let alone a couple hours. It would catch on things, and honestly, the temptation would be too much. I finished the job that my demons started for me. On my way home, I told my wife that the stupid client cost me a nail, and she was understandably moved by the seriousness of my actions.

So here I sit, with nine Klein-record-length nails and one normal-Klein-looking one. I have less than 36 hours before I show my parents, and then they'll be gone. I'm not sure how yet, but they'll be gone. I'm having trouble ignoring some of them more than others (I'm talking to you, left ring finger), so time can't move quickly enough. Wish me luck, gentle readers.

But damn, that one nail was delicious.