Wednesday, March 11, 2015



Women have occasionally asked me to get out of bed and put some socks on. No, this has nothing to do with a kinky foot fetish, but with Raynaud's Syndrome, my longtime ailment the chief symptom of which is icy hands and feet, the result of a vascular deficiency. They do not feel cold to me; but a constant refrain of my social life has been, "Your hands are so cold." And, of course, there have been times when a naked woman told me that my feet were cold. (Use your imagination.) When I worked at a Japanese bank I often went to the restroom to warm my hands with hot water before meetings: there was a lot of handshaking, and frosty fingers are not the best thing to greet customers and superiors with. When I am nominated for canonization this incident will be cited as evidence of my saintliness: I was once a certified nurse assistant at a convalescent hospital. One of my patients was Loys, an ancient lady who hadn't spoken in a very long time. I don't remember what the diagnosis was, but she would do nothing but stare at those who talked to her. Well, one night I was spreading lotion on her back when suddenly out of the surrounding silence I heard, CHRIST, YOUR HANDS ARE COLD!" She was a regular chatterer from then on.

COMPLAIN EARLY: A bitch in time saves nine.

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