My students,

I suffer from clammy hands

iz sad

I would like to share with you two of my worst clammy hand moments

First Horrible Clammy Hands Experience 

I was in seventh grade and I was invited to my friend Hannah and her twin brother, Josh's joint Bat Mitzvah and Bar Mitzvah. Hannah was a classmate and close friend of mine from Boston All Girl's School, and sure, I was excited for her to become a responsible Jewish Adult, 

but,

I had a hopeless crush on her brother Josh and I was really just excited to be on the dancefloor near him. 

Shallow I know. 

Damn you, 12-year-old self

I mean, really. What happened to SISTERS before MISTERS? Sorry, Hannah. 

In true all girl's school fashion, ignoring the social norms of a boy always asking a girl to dance, (ok, I forgive you, 12-year-old self)  I went right up to Josh, The New Bar Mitzvah, and asked him to dance. 

HE SAID YES! 

what a success story

But no. There were many problems with the situation. This was my first dance, so I did not know where to place my hands, I was wearing one of those heinous dresses that had a sweater sewn on it, and I had (and still have) clammy hands. 

Amid my confusion and excitement, I placed my hands right smack dab on the tops of his two shoulders. 

hate muh lyfe

To my horror, when the song ended and he walked away, I noticed two damp spots on the shoulders of his sky blue button-up shirt where my clammy hands had rested just moments before. 

humiliation has no boundaries

Feeling a cool wetness on his upper arms, Josh probably reached to his shoulder and felt the moist, moist fabric and suddenly realized that his dance partner was a sweaty-handed beast. 

Second Horrible Clammy Hands Experience 

When I was younger, I took a figure drawing and painting art class. One time, after an intense half-hour long painting session, I rested my right on a spare piece of paper. To my immense shock, when I lifted my hand and looked down at the sheet of paper, my clammy hand had completely soaked through the fancy art paper.

Voldemort did this to me

My teacher noticed the soggy handprint that my perspiration had made on her precious and expensive art paper, and she made judgy eyes. 

As if it were MY FAULT that I allowed my hands to moisten the piece of paper 

The next day in art class, I spotted the same paper with a dried sweat stain on it. I decided that it would be better if I used the gimpy piece of paper than if some other some other student grabbed it, so I picked it up and brought it to my table. 

My teacher was apparently very proud of this noble decision and to my embarrassment, she loudly acknowledged me for the entire silent art class to hear.
This is what she said:

From my experiences, I have learned to protect others from the wrath that I bring upon innocent pieces of paper with my sweaty hands of doom.

Hasta Mañana!