Name a remedy, any remedy—I’ve tried it. Nothing can curtail my nearly 16-year nail-biting/-peeling habit.
Those foul-tasting polishes that promise to repel? Not so bad.
Nails slathered in Tabasco sauce? A success until I rubbed my eye.
Gum can be spit out after the flavor expires, and gloves—especially in unseasonable temps—are hastily removed. I've worn bright coral lipstick on the premise that its smearability will keep my fingers away from my lips. Alas, Clown Mouth is no deterrent.
I’m admittedly germaphobic, but the anxiety of contracting a long-dormant virus on public transportation has only amped up the routine.
I once asked my dentist how damaging my chronic chomping was. "Why, just this morning, I worked on someone who broke off a front tooth because of nail biting," he said. Scare tactic well played, sir, but this cautionary tale seemed a little too convenient.
Tricking possible paramours into hand holding (“You're doing me a huge favor; this habit has got to go”) and taking up cigarettes seem to be my remaining strategies. But in the name of self- and lung preservation, I've been on the hunt for more viable solutions. And I found a promising option.