(no subject)
For the third time this week (and it's only Tuesday, you know!), someone's commented that I really ought to get some lotion for my hands. I don't mind an acquaintance offering the occasional "helpful" suggestion, but when it's on a daily basis and it's so damn glaringly obvious, I get a little irked.
If I saw someone whose hands looked like they'd been soaked in lye for three days, held over a fire, and then scoured with a Brillo pad and whose skin was otherwise non-crusty, I'd assume at least one of several things; 1) for some reason they soaked their hands in lye for three days, held them over a fire, and then scoured them with a Brillo pad, 2) they worked some kind of embarrassing job that involved a lot of grotty manual labour and they probably would rather not talk about it, let alone to some nosy stranger, 3) they had a gnarly skin disease, or in my case 4) they're mortally afraid of germs and spend way too much time trying to scrub them off (along with nine of the seven layers of skin), and are probably justifiably a bit self-conscious about it.
So, next time anyone remarks on the condition of or offers some sort of advice for "curing" the unpleasant crackedness/bloodiness/redness of my grimy mitts, I'm going to ball them both up into hideous OCD-patient fists and feed them to the offender with a slice of ill wishes. Damn!
If I saw someone whose hands looked like they'd been soaked in lye for three days, held over a fire, and then scoured with a Brillo pad and whose skin was otherwise non-crusty, I'd assume at least one of several things; 1) for some reason they soaked their hands in lye for three days, held them over a fire, and then scoured them with a Brillo pad, 2) they worked some kind of embarrassing job that involved a lot of grotty manual labour and they probably would rather not talk about it, let alone to some nosy stranger, 3) they had a gnarly skin disease, or in my case 4) they're mortally afraid of germs and spend way too much time trying to scrub them off (along with nine of the seven layers of skin), and are probably justifiably a bit self-conscious about it.
So, next time anyone remarks on the condition of or offers some sort of advice for "curing" the unpleasant crackedness/bloodiness/redness of my grimy mitts, I'm going to ball them both up into hideous OCD-patient fists and feed them to the offender with a slice of ill wishes. Damn!