I have decided that this is definitely going to be the year of the hands.
I’ve never had particularly attractive hands and, yes, I ignore them and hardly ever use hand cream, but why bother? They work, which is good, but they’ve never been my best body part. However, I just caught a glimpse of my hand on the shoulder of my grandchild in a Christmas photo and, honestly, it looks like The Claw. Along with the thin skin and ropey veins are what look like darkened freckles (from years in the sun), the dreaded brown spots and the red spots—also from the sun. And now a bump on my thumb joint, too. Could be a cyst or arthritis—I’ll have it checked out.
I’ve started tearing out articles from magazines and newspapers regarding what can be done, and it’s amazing what treatments are available for hands. A New York dermatologist advertises the Ruby laser for $500. Some women get injections of filler to plump out the hands—hmmm. A local dermatologist advertises removal of the veins. Doesn’t sound promising, as the skin is still the same translucent, thin skin that would leave us looking like a biology project in the chapter on circulation once the veins are removed.
My nails keep breaking, but long ago I gave up the “sculptured, silicone nails.” Now there is something new, less damaging, called Shellac.
My feeling is that anything that requires a special drying lamp and is instantly dry to the touch can’t be that good for you. Polish has to be soaked off. I’m sure it’s not as bad as the silicone, but the nails don’t conceal the hands.
Neil Diamond sang about hands in “Sweet Caroline”:
“Hands,
Touching hands,
Reaching out,
Touching me,
Touching you.”
I don’t want someone to cringe when I reach out, after all.
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