unhinged and on ice

This time of year I'm compulsively carrying around Neutrogena's NORWEGIAN FORMULA® comfort cream. Usually around the last week in January, the bitter city wind starts to crack my cold-lashed cuticles to the quick (it doesn't help that all winter I've been wearing ineffectual and totally useless gloves chosen for their looks and not for how warm they're able to keep my digits). My nails stop growing and start splitting, and my knuckles could basically sand a bench.

Last week I rapped my hand against a fruit cart at the market, and didn't feel it happen, or even know it had been bleeding until I looked down and spotted the red-brown stained crescent moon circling the front pocket of my already coffee-stained white pea coat (the coat went in the trash).

The only thing that seems to combat the slow outside-in destruction of my poor hands by old manic winter is to slather them with salve every five minutes.

That's my 'Norwegian formula' for surviving the chill.
Actual Norwegians on the other hand, are doing something completely different.

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