This one may end up as a little troll once I get a chance to really refine him. Not too bad for working in horrible light, on my lap, and with my roughed up man-paws.
What are man-paws, you might ask?
Well, man-paws are what you get when you a) don't own a dishwasher and b) work with clay.
The dishes are self-explanatory. Hungry kids=messy dishes three times a day (at least). I am sort of a freak about germs and stuck on food, too, so the water I use is at such a temperature that it would probably remove skin from most normal people's hands.
I, on the other hand, have man-paws. Rough, thick-skinned, abnormally tough hands. Hands that are impervious to pain, heat, and have a texture akin to shoe leather.
Why no gloves, one might ask? Because if I wore gloves I wouldn't be able to feel any microscopic bits that might possibly still be left on the plates.
(I know, I know. FREAK!)
I keep waiting for my husband to give me a new little nickname. Like Frank or Chuck. It must be like holding hands with a mechanic. (Ignore this crooked photo, please. Or tilt your head until it appears correctly rotated. It kept getting wonky during my uploads and I am lacking patience today. *eye roll*)
Working with clay has become a hand issue, too, because I am constantly washing my hands or using alcohol wipes to get rid of residue. Not the most gentle thing to do to one's hands. (Don't even get me STARTED about wet-felting! Oy! So chafe-y!)
Its sort of a catch 22. It is easier to work with clay when one has nice smooth hands, but in working with the clay I find myself washing and degreasing and washing...you get the picture. Very drying and not conducive to soft, lovely hand model-ish hands.
At least I have nicer hands than THIS guy.
This little thing may end up a root baby. We'll see if I still like it once I give it some eyes. If not, back into a little green blob of clay he goes.
Thanks for popping by! Until next time, happy moisturizing!