I’m sitting on the couch with Zoe the jack russell on my lap and we’re watching the Gourmet Farmer who is in France researching how to preserve meat in cans. It’s a relaxing Thursday night. So why am I biting my nails? As I gnaw at my fingers, the TV chef opens a can of paté and eats it with a fresh baguette. What a life. I can only dream of opening cans of paté with my bare hands like that; my bitten-down fingernails can’t get under the pull ring.
I also struggle to untie knots. Or peel the stickers off apples. But worse than those inconveniences is the pain and shame my lifelong habit causes. It stings when I bite my nails too much and I’m embarrassed by how short they are.