I’m a nail biter, finger picker, cuticle destroyer, all-around demolisher of the look of my hands. I’ve had embarrassing moments where I’ve picked the skin around certain fingers so much that I couldn’t stop the bleeding. At these times, I walk around clutching a tissue, trying to hide my disfigurement.

Two years ago I had a manicure. It was my first, but it was done with the intent that if I spent some money on my hands then perhaps I would take better care of them. The concept was a good one, but the execution proved wrong. In days, I had two of my fingers returned to the bloody messes they were used to. I came to the conclusion that manicures were not the answer.

. . . until last week.

I had a party to attend at a friend’s house. On the day of the party, three of us drove around town picking up assortments of meats and pastries. Part of these errands involved manicures. The hostess planned to get one. We all should too.

After the filing, cutting, massaging, and rubbing I was asked if I wanted a clear polish and I agreed. My first manicure did not involve polish so I decided this one would.

When we left the salon, I kept admiring my fingernails as if I were a newlywed admiring her wedding ring. I couldn’t help it. I stole glances: at the counter when I reached up to take a loaf of bread; in the car when no one was looking; at the sushi restaurant when I picked up a tray of sashimi. When I realized this covert vanity I became instantly embarrassed—and extremely conscious—of myself. I wondered if anyone noticed me noticing my polish. Maybe the polish was drawing too much attention?

Eventually, I overcame this slight paranoia.

It wasn’t until the second day, the day when I started to reach unconsciously for that piece of skin on my left thumb that I scolded myself. I could see the skin giving way. I knew the blood would come, and I didn’t want the past to repeat itself. I liked my newly polished nails. I stopped and found myself starting again. This cycle repeated a number of times, each one with a stern self admonishment; each one with a look at that polish, that shiny surface of nicer possibilities and less disfigurement.

Copyright © Tyler Gant 2010 for Just Moving Along .com