She's Golden

        Her fingers were freezing, even the thumb. Not the palms of her hand or the wrist, arm, elbow, shoulder, not even that other extremity, her feet. Just fingers.

Her fingers.

Ungloved. Well, yes. Unmittened too, and, yes, her feet, legs, arms, torso--the torso always--were completely covered. So, she jammed her fingers under opposing arms and considered the day ahead.

An excellent day not to leave her room, not to go to work. Ah! hold that thought! An excellent day to stay covered and warm for one more day, just one more. 

Monday was gone.

She'd managed to stay home all day Monday. (Yes, it was a holiday, so she had a valid excuse.)

But today? A Tuesday, not a holiday, not a possible option even for a woman with fingers stiff with gold. Gold? ( She'd thought gold instead of cold!)

An omen. A sign. She was like gold. Not the woman with the golden arm, but, yes, with the golden fingers. Now there's a thought, she thought, and threw back the blanket, leapt out of bed, went straight to the bathroom to see if her golden fingers showed up in the mirror.

Well, no, they didn't. No color on her fingers or hands at all. But now, she was up, may as well brush her teeth, wash her face, get dressed, etc., etc., etc. And yes, even go to work, but now in a self-congratulatory mood.

Which made her happy. Another feat of imagination and drama got her up and going, ready for the day, any day, even a Tuesday.