My Aging Hands and the Stories They Will Not Let Me Forget

I have this bad habit of catching sight of my own hands when I am absolutely not prepared for it. Usually, when I am doing something deeply glamorous, like scrubbing toothpaste off the sink or trying to fish the last biscuit crumb off my jumper. And every time, without fail, there is that little jolt of shock. A tiny internal gasp. Like, excuse me, when did my hands decide to age faster than the rest of me?