Hands Off
It’s that time of year again. Not the most wonderful, not yet. I’m putting a stop to all this early Christmas business. Can we agree to at least wait until after Thanksgiving to start with the icicle lights and egg nog? Thanksgiving must feel like the redheaded stepchild, poor thing. One of the best holidays, where it’s okay to get drunk and sentimental, where stuffing your face is actually celebrated, and we’re just going through the motions.
Spare me on how supermarkets are stocked w/ turkeys and kids are putting on the obligatory Pilgrim play at school. It gets glossed over every year b/c people have a one-track mind after Halloween ends, and it’s not about who they’ll be seeing around the Thanksgiving dinner. It’s about what they’ll be buying after Thanksgiving dinner.
I digress. I don’t know how I got up on some Thanksgiving soap box. My intention of this post was much more superficial: skin care. It’s that time of year again, the time when my hands start to crack like Jessica Simpson under the pressure of her Weight Watchers contract (I’m still waiting to see how that will play out).
The change in seasons brings more than patterned tights and peppermint mochas. It brings the absolute worst conditions for my hands. I’m an avid lotioner year round. But my normal routine doesn’t cut it this time of year. I feel like the chick in that lotion commerical w/ the alligator following her around. Or maybe it’s a crocodile; I’d have to examine his snout a little closer to make that call.
By December my hands look worse than Lindsay Lohan in I Know Who Killed Me. Yeah, it’s pretty serious.
Nothing is safe this time of year. Things I normally don’t mind become agonizing. Washing dishes? Getting my hands wet and vulnerable? I told B yesterday that I need a pair of those yellow rubber gloves that go up to your elbows. I don’t care if I look like an old lady or a throwback to the 1950’s if it means fewer cracks and scales.
Maybe I just need to bite the bullet and stop getting my moisturizing needs at Family Dollar. That $2 jug of generic lotion has lasted me since 2010. I think I’ve offered it up as hair gel in a pinch. If anything, the bottle is just getting fuller. It refuses to empty. Unlike the tiny $12 bottle of Burt’s Bees that I splurged on that lasted me for about two weeks.
And don’t even get me started on my lips. I think mine have grown immune to Blistex. Most wonderful time of the year, my ass.
Spare me on how supermarkets are stocked w/ turkeys and kids are putting on the obligatory Pilgrim play at school. It gets glossed over every year b/c people have a one-track mind after Halloween ends, and it’s not about who they’ll be seeing around the Thanksgiving dinner. It’s about what they’ll be buying after Thanksgiving dinner.
I digress. I don’t know how I got up on some Thanksgiving soap box. My intention of this post was much more superficial: skin care. It’s that time of year again, the time when my hands start to crack like Jessica Simpson under the pressure of her Weight Watchers contract (I’m still waiting to see how that will play out).
The change in seasons brings more than patterned tights and peppermint mochas. It brings the absolute worst conditions for my hands. I’m an avid lotioner year round. But my normal routine doesn’t cut it this time of year. I feel like the chick in that lotion commerical w/ the alligator following her around. Or maybe it’s a crocodile; I’d have to examine his snout a little closer to make that call.
By December my hands look worse than Lindsay Lohan in I Know Who Killed Me. Yeah, it’s pretty serious.
Nothing is safe this time of year. Things I normally don’t mind become agonizing. Washing dishes? Getting my hands wet and vulnerable? I told B yesterday that I need a pair of those yellow rubber gloves that go up to your elbows. I don’t care if I look like an old lady or a throwback to the 1950’s if it means fewer cracks and scales.
Maybe I just need to bite the bullet and stop getting my moisturizing needs at Family Dollar. That $2 jug of generic lotion has lasted me since 2010. I think I’ve offered it up as hair gel in a pinch. If anything, the bottle is just getting fuller. It refuses to empty. Unlike the tiny $12 bottle of Burt’s Bees that I splurged on that lasted me for about two weeks.
And don’t even get me started on my lips. I think mine have grown immune to Blistex. Most wonderful time of the year, my ass.
Comments
And I hear you on the lotion needs this time of year. My hands look like 20 years older than the rest of me.
(PS I'm giving away awesome lotion for just that on the blog today.)