That sounds a little naughty. But it most certainly isn’t.
For 27 1/2 years (or very close) I have bitten my nails. My parent tried everything growing up to get me to stop, from tape to hot sauce. (Tape is for weaklings, I love Tabasco.)
It has been a source of great embarrassment to me over the years. From the manicure 7th birthday party of a friend where her mom told the nail tech, “Don’t worry about Diana, she doesn’t have nails to do!” and laughed. To the humiliation of being a grown woman signing forms and pointing out things only to remember how ugly my hands looked.
I tried to stop many times, but in just a few days something would come up, I’d get nervous or stressed, and I’d bite them off without really even thinking.
Going to Georgia also meant going to the land of beautiful skin and hair. It was like the humidity loved me – and in doing so also blessed me with super long nails in a week. I didn’t bite them there for some reason. Maybe it was the comfort of being with Sam. Maybe it was the sheer shock of looking down and seeing an actual nail there.
Whatever the case, I headed home to the Land of Dry Air knowing that they would break, peel, and since getting on a plane is something that makes me incredibly nervous, that would be the end of that.
But as I sat there, the plane bumping along through turbulence and me mentally replaying “Lost” over and over again, I refused to cave in. And when I got home, I made myself a promise, “No more. You are an adult, and you have self control. It’s a dirty, nasty habit and you aren’t going to do it anymore.”
And so, 4 weeks later…
I decided to treat myself to something I’ve never had. A manicure. My sitter is here this afternoon (you know, the one I hired so I can be a truly terrible mom 3 hours a week), and in between running errands I’m doing a shellac spa treatment.
I’m nervous (because I don’t know much about shellac other than what Google and Twitter people have said). I am excited. I am proud of myself for sticking with something.
Shellac is a form of half gel/half polish (if I’m wrong here let me know) that is applied in thin layers and dried almost instantly under UV light to be a super tough manicure. You don’t get chips for up to two weeks, and you can crack open a beer can right in the salon without thinking twice. (Although, I wouldn’t. Very white trashy. Wait till you get out the door.) It’s a real manicure, only lasts longer.
The salon guy convinced me it’s a must do – that I haven’t really lived until I’ve been shellacked. (And yes, I googled it. That’s the correct spelling. It still doesn’t look like a real word.) So pinning all my hopes and dreams of beautiful nails forever on his words, I agreed.
I’ll post tomorrow on what happened and how it looks! For now, I’m off to reput Bella down for a nap. Again. (That’s a whole other blog post.)