Strange, nervous, creatures with a disgusting habit. They should just stop it.
Like all long-term habits, quitting nail biting is far more difficult than just suddenly packing it in. Unlike smoking, alcohol or drugs, there isn’t any chemical dependency, but the addiction to nibbling is still difficult to kick.
I should know – I quit smoking after more than 20 years on the cigs, but this is proving to be a much harder battle to win. Unsurprising, really, when you think about it. I didn’t start smoking until I was into my twenties, but I’ve been biting my nails for as long as I can remember. I have no recollection of starting to do it, or even having ever thought about it much.
It’s an easy habit to continue too – no matches required, you don’t have to pop to the shops to get more and it’s entirely free. The only cost is the crippling inability to get a starting point when trying to peel a label off something.
But I’ve had approaching five decades to get used to that. There are tougher things to deal with, especially if you’re left-handed and have to try and use a pair of scissors designed for the opposingly-handed majority.
So, being a serial chomper, I must have experienced a life filled with abject terror and crippling stress to drive me to such extremes, which sometimes include going so far as to draw blood, yes? Well, no. Never having known anything different, it was very much my ‘normal’. Having said that, I’m aware of the annoyance it causes others, and I’d have been a rubbish Goth without much to paint black.
But here we are – I’ve currently got nails protruding beyond the cuticles of my fingers for the first time, after a couple of weeks of superhuman effort and restraint.
It should be wonderful, but I’m struggling. How the hell does anyone type with these solid bits sticking out and hitting the keys? My already pretty poor standard of typing has now fallen so far, monkeys with typewriters are more likely to successfully type an error free line than me.
The simple act of scratching an itch has become a terrifying game of roulette, where my chances of substantial blood loss have reached an alarming level. This morning I nearly lost my vision trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes.
I’m getting scared to touch Mrs G, as I now have an arsenal of dangerous weaponry and not the slighting awareness of the catastrophic damage it can do.
Having to adapt to what most of the rest of the planet have been doing their whole lives is proving quite stressful. If there was only something I could do to help alleviate that...
On the bright side, I’m really enjoying the ability to show my impatience in meetings by drumming my nails on the desk.
This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column in the North West Evening Mail on the 21st of February 2014. You can view the version used by the paper here although the only difference you'll spot is that they went with "20's" instead of "twenties", and even duplicated my odd use of the word "slighting", which I typed meaning "slightest" and despite two proof-reads, missed altogether. As did they!
An alternative title to this column was "No, More Nails" which I reckon was better, but less likely to have been used by the paper.
And yes, I am still resisting the very great urge to nibble, and may actually have to consider trimming my nails soon. It's hard to put into words what an odd sensation it is actually having fingernails, and all the odd little things that I'm having to alter because of it. For instance, I now get soap under my nails when having a shower in the morning, and have to remember to clean it out. I know - earth shattering, no?
(Compilations continue, with the the rather excellent "Rewind - The Best In Music And Video", a nifty concept of 2 CDs and a DVD, featuring mostly 80s hits.)
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