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Polish, Parenthood, and Puppies
Fingernails were not an item I paid much attention to as a kid. Many of the other little girls would come to school with their nails painted. I was much more interested in being a tomboy and playing cowboys and indians. In about the fourth grade, we had a teacher who kept a chart on each of us and checked different areas every day. One of the areas she emphasized was hygiene, which included checking our fingernails to ensure they were clean and well-shaped. I always received a negative mark in this category. I also chewed my cuticles until they bled. This didn’t add to a nice-looking nail experience.
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Fingernails: Chewed, Glued, and Screwed
As a kid, I chewed my nails down to the quick. There was never an ounce of white at the tips, and I had this strange habit of folding my pillowcase and shoving the crease under my nails, pushing that tender skin back. Gross, I know. The truth is, that habit never really went away. I still “crease” my nails to this day, and after years of it, my fingernails are barely attached to their nail beds—a long-lasting reminder of my own weird fidgeting.By the time I got to college, though, I traded one bad habit for another. With my $25 monthly allowance, I wasn’t buying ramen or stretching a dollar the way Lisa bragged she could with her $20. Nope—I was in the salon chair, blowing my budget on acrylic nails. Scrimping was never my style.