You wouldn't want to be my hands today

It was a very strange day. No, nothing extraordinary happened. No lottery win, or no alien abduction. Sorry for disappointing you.

Well, strangely this was the day for my hands getting hurt. Starting with spilling boiling soup on my left hand (back of the palm and little finger) at lunchtime. Then, when doing a washing-up, I found that one of the finger joints on my right hand was bruised very badly. It's still sore and beautifully coloured with purple. Strangely, I don't have a clue how I got this bruise. Then, I helped J, my next-door neighbour, sort out the contents of garden shed before teatime. Without a pair of gloves on. Lifting and shifting dusty rusty stuff, my hands ended up looking like ones of a slave labourer's. (My fault, really.)

The most strange thing is, my hands look rather fragile (once my friend's mother told me that I had delicate hands), but they are very tough and recover back to the original state quickly and naturally. So, I don't even remember the last time I rubbed cream on them. Pity that my face doesn't work in the same way.