Bowing to the inevitable

True confessions time.

I am  a reformed nail biter.  I was engaged in that bad habit until I was 36 years old.

Consequently, my long nails are a source of personal pride.  They're not just a beautification of my hands.  They're a symbol of perseverence and willpower.

But for some reason, I have never gotten into the habit of a weekly manicure.  I should do it, should arrange a standing appointment at my favorite salon. . .

I broke 3, count them, 3 nails in the past two days.

My nails don't break off at the tips.  No, it's much more insideous than that.   My nails  . . .I'll see a hairline fracture on the side of the nail, running parallel to the nail bed, all across the top of the affected finger.  You can't file something like that.  I can try to glue it down or wrap it, and that brings temporary relief.

But the crack creeps inexorably from one side of the nail to the other.  Until I am left with two choices:  let nature take its course, until the nail catches on something and is forceably ripped from my finger, or . . .get the nail clippers.

It's not fair.