I’m a pretty good typist. I don’t know my WPM, but it’s relatively high. Accuracy, on the other hand, that is questionable. Thank good ness, I mean goodness, for spell check. Every so often I have to look down at the keyboard. And I don’t see my hands, I see my grandmother’s hands, typing away, click click click. I see the dry, scaly, hands of what is surely a woman much older than myself. I’m only…… 39 again….. for Pete’s sake. Wait, who says “Pete’s sake” besides older ladies? WTH??? I’m not this old.
Nonetheless, the hands that seem to be attached to my body can’t be mine. They look like they’ve lived a life far longer than the life I’ve lived. Sure, these hands have scraped ice off of cars, and tied many a shoe, they’ve been up turkeys and inside the toilet bowl, they’ve rinsed dinner dishes and even tossed a few logs on the fire, and these nails are ready for a manicure… but the hands, they can’t be mine.
If I took a close-up photo right now, before putting on any product, you’d think you were looking at a beach, where wind and water have left lines in the sand. I would post a photo, but when I looked at the image, my hands looked older than in real life. Seriously!
So it’s time to take charge. I want my next decade to be better than my last. I want to be the best I can be. I want to feel good, look good, be good and do good. I want to treat ME the way I should be treated. And that starts with something small that I see every day… my hands.
I loved my grandmother, she was one he** of a typist, and she was beautiful, inside and out. Her hands, the lotions she used, the products she adored….. little investments she made in herself because she was worth it. I’m worth it too. And age shield hand balm is worth it to me.