I’ve been biting my nails my whole life. Since I was a kid, my mom would put this shiny oil that smelled like expired gasoline on my nails. She spread it with a tiny black brush, then once I turned 11 or 12, I did it. The liquid was supposed to stop the habit, but it didn’t. No matter how bad it tasted, I still bit my nails. It took two decades and a trip to Mendoza, Argentina to change that.