In which I realize that I'm not good with nail polish

I've been all about self-improvement lately.  I'm not sure what inspired such grandiose objectives, but I made about a half dozen summer resolutions to which I've stuck to with varied degrees of success.  And some degrees of outright failure, but let's not think about that right now, okay?

Many thanks.

One of my struggles is nail biting, so I've decided to quit cold turkey.  I've actually been pretty good about it, and my nails look a little better than Frodo's right now.  Since they are all peely and chippy and breaky, I've started applying clear nail polish to keep them looking halfway decent.

And this is how I know I'm no good at polishing nails.  Seriously.  I remember my mom painting my nails a few times when I was a kid, but since I always chewed on them, she decided that it would be best that I didn't attempt to digest whatever it is that nail polish contains.

Is it just me, or does anyone else read the word "polish" and want to pronounce it "Polish," like the people of Eastern Europe?

Just me then?  Okay.

Anyway, since I've painted them a few times now, my fingernails don't look so bad.  Plus, the PAH-lish is clear.

Today I attempted to paint an actual color on my toenails.  (Not that I bite my toenails, because ew, but I just never really got into the whole thing.)  It looks like my 21-month-old painted them.  Seriously.  Except she'd probably do a better job.  There is a lovely bronze sheen all over my cuticles, the skin surrounding the nails, and some inbetween the toes.  I'd post a picture, but I don't have nice feet so I won't inflict them on anyone.

I'm so ashamed.  I know I'm not all frills and ruffles, but sheesh!  Now I have to wear shoes until it wears off of the non-nail portions of my feet!  Closed-toe shoes at that!

Ugh!