So now my nails are getting disturbingly long, and soon I'll have to file them for the first time since, I'm guessing, 1999. As I refuse to consciously stop biting them, the only way to actually stop myself biting them is as a by-product of painting them. Today I discovered that I have thirty-six bottles of nail polish, given to me as presents over the years, presents that I have completely ignored, thinking 'oh great, nail polish' and then put in my designated nail polish box. It was this year's nail polish intake that prompted me to paint them. Of the thirty-six bottles, I threw away eleven for being too old or too hideous. Now I suppose I will have to start being one of those people (i.e, many, many women) who paints their nails. What next? Hair dye? (No, my hair is too dark) Massages? (I prefer not to be touched by strange humans) Dental floss? (No).
This is all because my first sort-of New Year's resolution didn't work out. I was hoping to rediscover the music I liked when I was twelve, but then after listening to Avril Lavigne's debut album I was disappointed, mostly because the genre came up on iTunes as 'pop' and not 'radical alternative indie skater rock' as I had previously imagined when I listened to it in 2004 on my CD walkman. Never mind, I still enjoy the music I liked when I was a much more tasteful seven-year-old (ABBA and the soundtrack from Tarzan).
So until I am too lazy to put on nail polish, end up in a nerve-wracking situation and bite them again, welcome to the new me.
*I obviously do not bite my toenails. I'm not revolting or flexible enough.