If you ever find yourself touching my hand, please do not be shocked by its temperature. Around September-ish, my hands lose all warmth and turn to ice. I begin to feel them in April when the snow melts, the birds sing, flowers burst through the earth and biting my fingers hurts again. So please don’t feel sorry for me.
And if you happen to shake my hand, don’t wince and pull away. Just because my blood doesn’t make it to my hands for six months out of the year doesn’t mean you need to discriminate against me. And my kind.
Oh sure, there’s the old “run your hands under hot water” trick. And the “jam your fingers in your armpits” maneuver. But those are temporary. And the second one is awkward.
Honestly, I sort of forget about it. Until someone shakes my hand, gasps, and gives me a pitying glance. Then I remember. And feel like I have to apologize. Guess what, though? It’s not my fault my hands are so cold!
I wear gloves or mittens when I can. Meaning, whenever it's appropriate. Meaning, not when I'm working at the desk in the library. Because some may find that awkward.
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