Today begins my epic quest to stop biting my nails. Mavala STOP promises to break a three-decades-old coping mechanism with the power of really foul-tasting nail polish.
Problem is, I'm pretty sure biting my nails was the only thing keeping me from killing you all.
Devon has hinted that my hands are disgusting creatures of the night that should be hidden for the sake of human decency. Or maybe I just interpreted it that way. He was pretty careful to phrase it in terms of fear of infection, but we both know he keeps pepper spray under his pillow, just in case.
I wonder what it'll be like when I can't see my nail bed anymore.