Reason 147

Cold hands. Despite Seattle's recent sunny skies and 60 degree temperatures, my hands, especially my finger tips, have been freezing lately. I've crammed my digits under my legs, in my armpits, and between my thighs, and still the cold lingers (don't worry, I am not performing these moves publicly), and, as lovely as it is, somehow the adage "cold hands, warm heart" doesn't seem to ease the level of frigidity. Sure, I should probably take advantage of my cheap healthcare and make an appointment with my doctor to make sure I don't have some rare, degenerative disease that attacks the limbs, but I have another solution in mind that will be a lot less anxiety-inducing and, Jason, you are just the man for the job. Awhile back I read another fan's blog post about meeting you in San Francisco. Of course, she gushed about how funny and gracious you were, but what really made an impression on her were your hands, which she described as giant, warm oven mitts (I'm paraphrasing, here). Well, my friend, I could use your heat-conducting bear paws right about now. If you could hop on the next plane north and spend an hour or so holding my hands tenderly in yours, I would greatly appreciate it. I promise not to make love-sick faces at you or mistake the hand-holding for the beginnings of an actual relationship; it would strictly be a favor from one friend to another. And, once I'm toasty from my head to my toes, we can get around to doing all of the fabulous things I have mentioned in previous posts. Really, it's a win-win situation for everyone.