I've always known that I was special. (How else could I justify all those hours spent indoors reading alone.) I did not realize until very recently, however, that my small hands were as special as my soul.
Lately, my hands have been the subject of fascination among a very particular group of "friends." It all started, like all things do in this internet age, unintentionally. Crystal somehow grasped my hand one cold day in Philly. From there, she exclaimed how exquisitely soft my hands were. I thought she was a freak, but Helen touched them and confirmed. I have the softest hands they had ever touched. From there, the legend spread like a virus. Every time I tried to explain how ridiculous Crystal and Helen were, someone else would touch these precious hands and make absurd claims about their delicate nature. For a few days there, the legend seemed uncontainable, until, inevitably-- backlash.
Jealous haters (cough, Lisa, cough, Greg) started speculating why my hands were soft. They said that I had hands that knew no housework and never toiled a day in my life (true, but still offensive) whereas they had coarse, honest hands. Worst of all, they called these precious palms doughy.
Last night, however, my internet hands came full circle: backlash against the backlash. Crystal and Greg confronted each other when once again, we were hanging out and someone brought up my hands (I put "friends" in quotes because can I really consider people whose lives are so interesting that we're still talking about my hands four months later to be genuine friends, no matter how often we see each other?).
Greg: [something something] doughy hands.
Crystal: You take that back! How dare you call those silken hands doughy? They're the best part about her.
Greg: But they're so puffy and-
Crystal: They're smooth like tofu. And a cloud.
