Through this past spring and summer and fall, I didn’t remember where I left my winter gloves. If I thought about them at all, I assumed I had left them in a coat pocket.
Then it got cold. My hands got blotchy red and the skin over my knuckles cracked so that it hurt to wash my hands or bend my fingers. And the gloves weren’t in my coat. Or my rain jacket. Or my old battered jacket I wear to shovel snow. Or anyplace reasonable.
And practically everything I did made my hands hurt.
So, having looked everyplace a reasonable woman would put her gloves when the weather turned warm, I started looking in unreasonable places. And there they were, out of sight behind a pile of books. Ah, the joy of pulling gloves on over my poor sore knuckles before walking out into January.
What a great story…
Thanks, Jo – and every word of it is true! (And in breaking news, it’s a good thing I located those gloves – we had our first snow last night. Not enough to completely bury the grass, but enough to make everything definitely white.)
Oh gosh you need a spare pair!
I don’t know – would it really help to have four lost gloves instead of two?
I knew they had to turn up. Better sooner than later.
Yes – yay gloves! I like them a lot better on my hands than lost among the piles of stuff.