Sometimes I stare at my wife’s hands and am overcome with appreciation. My wife’s hands are usually dry and smell of cigarettes and whatever she last ate—take that as you will. Her hands are strong and remind me of safety and security. When we first started dating, I used to watch her hands on the steering wheel. I would stare, mesmerized, at the hands that were quite literally holding my life and driving me forward; gently and carefully at times,…
An Ode to Butch Women
Posted on August 9, 2019
