And it came to pass that Annie learned to leave her fingertips alone. She was 65. She had started snacking on her own skin before she was 12. A mere half century or so.

She wasn’t born with the habit. Like other babies, she arrived with ten fingertips and no teeth. And even after she cut some teeth and learned to use them, her fingertips were too soft to be satisfying. She munched on her nails.

Her mother tried to stop her. Of course. Annie’s mother was the fidgiest person Annie ever knew, but she wouldn’t allow it in her daughter. “Stop that,” she’d snap. “That looks ugly. If you keep doing it, your face will get stuck that way.” Or she would remove Annie’s hand from her mouth. Sometimes the removal was gentle. Mostly it was like a smack or a swat. Neither words nor motions worked.

Then Annie’s mother bought a substance that was supposed to deter any nailbiter. It came in a polish-type bottle but it wasn’t pretty. It was Crayola flesh-colored, with a bad smell when it was wet. The odor disappeared when the substance dried, but the stuff had a terrible taste, according to the words on its packaging. It might have worked if Annie’s mother had applied it carefully. But she was an impatient woman and she claimed to have no manual skill (her hobby was paint-by-number sets – “why I can’t even draw a circle!”), and she glopped the stuff onto Annie’s nails so clumsily that it dried in thick lumps. It was satisfying for Annie to pick off. Almost as good as biting her nails after the coating was gone.

In time Annie matured. She didn’t exactly give up her digital habit, but she exchanged it for an improved nibbling experience. She started noticing how ugly nailbiting appeared when others did it. There were several in her classroom, and she saw how they had to twist their fingertips to get the right angle, how they screwed up their lower faces to get the job done. And they were developing ugly fingers, with pillows of flesh around their short nails. She didn’t want to look like that.

Annie was an avid reader. She’d get into a story and then notice that she was nail-nibbling. She determined she’d keep her hands away from her mouth. She tried wearing gloves (that didn’t work because it felt too unnatural). Several times she put her hands under her butt to keep them away from her face. That didn’t work either. But the attempts had effect; Annie began to be able to sit without biting her fingernails.

For awhile. She couldn’t seem to totally quiet her hands. She soon found herself raking her index fingers against the sides of her thumbs. She’d make a rough spot and keep raking. Over time that activity roughened her thumb skin. Then there was more to rake at. Her middle fingers might get involved. Maybe even her ring fingers. It wasn’t long before the rough skin was bitable. Annie bit.

Promptly she acquired a taste for the callused skin. She nibbled, pulled, bit, tore. Sometimes she went too far, ripping a cuticle or otherwise drawing blood. Then she had to press and lick to avoid a stripe of scab. Unsightly. But if she didn’t bite deep, her habit wasn’t visible on her fingers. Unless her hands were soaked. She tended to hide her hands when she emerged from a swimming pool.