Are you surprised? Have I blogged about this before?
Since my earliest remembrance of walking to kindergarten with Ferris, my boyfriend, I have bitten my nails. Nobody ever complained about it or reprimanded me (though I knew to be mortified) until I met my future husband. Do you find that weird that nobody ever said, “you shouldn’t bite your nails, honeypie.”
So after 18 years +, I stopped biting my nails. How? I had tried everything I read about in Glamour Magazine and Teen Magazine. I even tried that awful-tasting “poison” stuff you put on your nails. I bit right through it. Anxiety is anxiety? My whole growing up was one big pit of anxiety with two drink lovers as parents and three siblings who didn’t know which end was up. At least that’s what I’m blaming it on. Because I have no weaknesses, you know; I am formidable.
It wasn’t until my soon-to-be husband said, “No engagement ring for you until you stop biting your nails. ” So lovingly he said this. Can you imagine? I swear. Well, I told all 18 of my engineers that I worked for at the time about this predicament and their phone calls from their desks started coming in. (They liked Marty.)
“You’re biting your nails again”, they’d say calmly into the phone, even though they were sitting six feet from me.
That’s what it took. Eighteen engineers watching me all day, five days a week. They were my saviors. I got my diamond ring.
To this day, I still constantly struggle with it, and I’m mighty proud when I have a nicely manicured hand to display. And I still constantly fight that anxiety!