I'm very sensitive. I'm sure it comes across in my writing. So there's really no need to point it out. Indeed, I'm surprised that people don't just refer to me as Princess, of The Pea fame. If she's famous for feeling a pea, I could be exponentially more famous for feeling a grain of salt. They're cubic, you know. Salt crystals have eight sharp corners in each tiny crystal. They bruise me so. It doesn't matter how many mattresses come between me and my naturally-occurring halite.
As further evidence of my tenderness, I point to Exhibit A. It's video evidence, captured by surveillance camera at my workplace this afternoon. The picture and sound quality are excellent.
Val and The Pony walk from the side door to their car.
"It's freezing out here! Was it this cold when you got off the bus?"
"It's not that cold."
"I thought the forecast said we would have a high of 50 degrees today."
"Well, it's NOT 50 degrees."
The subjects of our short bout of voyeurism click open the vehicle and climb inside. Val turns the key, and the large SUV roars to life. She peers at the digital thermometer reading, so handy in the upper right corner of her rearview mirror.
"See. I told you so. It's 49 degrees."