hands

I just got home from work. It's almost 1 in the morning.

I won't tell you what I do at work because I'd like to keep certain details about my life to myself before I start broadcasting everything to the public. The only thing I would say is that I do a lot of dish washing (that gives out a lot I know). I don't know what major restaurant doesn't own a dish washer nowadays, but trust me, my work place uses manual labour at its fullest. Everytime I end my shift, my hands look like the bark of a tree. I'm not a big fan of lotion, but since I started living in the coldest city I could possibly live in, I have to put stuff on my face, body, hands etc. Thing is, after awhile, the stuff I put on just stops working. It reminds of this one episode in How I met your Mother where the dreamy bachelor Barney Stinson explains to his best friend Ted Mosby that in order to tell a woman's age, one only needs to look at her hands.

So here I am sitting in front of my laptop, typing away with my wrinkly hands that look like they would peel at any moment. And I can't help but wonder: how old do you think I am?