My hands got old today.
As someone who is generally critical of one body part or another at any given time, I have always been uncharacteristically vain when it comes to my hands.
It’s not like I could have been a hand model. I have scars: war wounds from my spats with my sister, from my inability to slice a bagel without slicing my finger and from my sub-conscious attraction to shattered bits of glass . I have a crooked weather-predicting pinky finger on my right hand and I have a tendency to let my cuticles take over. But all that is part of the charm, really. My hands have a more delicate bone structure, they move nicely and – until today – they were smooth.
Now, it’s been well recognized that the knuckles have been getting… knucklier. That was unavoidable. But, today there are wrinkles between my knuckles. Seriously.
I’m hoping that exhaustion has something to do with it. I’m hoping that my recent lack of lotion at work has something to do with it. I’m hoping sushi lunch had something to do with it. I’m hoping that after a few good nights’ worth of sleep, a brand new bottle of Aveeno and a few big glasses of water, they’ll be all better.
But I’m suspicious that the years I spent in health care, wearing sweaty nitrile gloves, washing my hands dozens of times each day with cheap soap and a few months of horrible sleep have done their damage.
Alright, alright , old lady hands are not the end of the world. I can still type; I can still get a pay cheque. I can still get my wedding ring over my wrinkly knuckle. (oooh – shall we have another post about how Mr.Q doesn’t wear his ring?)
But, I have so many options to correct my various ‘ailments’, were I so inclined. I could get laser eye surgery. I could get injections to fill up the lines on my forehead. I could have my ears hauled back to tweak my jowls. But what am I left with for wrinkling hands aside from soaking them a vat of petroleum jelly?
Probably some nasty laser therapy chemical peel that will reduce me to bleached bones.
Oh my gods. I have to change my post title: there is a procedure for this.
Maybe I’ll just hold out for laser eye surgery. Or another tattoo…
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see if I have any petroleum jelly.