Walking down the street, absorbed in thought. Like I usually do.
While my brain is consumed thinking about something, my eyes wander. My eyes dart from person to person as I walk past them.
I notice that my eyes have been trying to figure out why a woman’s hand is not visible to me. Is she wearing a glove? Is it in her pocket? I realize that she doesn’t have a hand. Completely mortified, my eyes widen when I realize that I’ve been staring at her wrist for far too long.
A split-second later, I realize that my look of embarrassment at myself for looking at her too long might be construed as horror at her not having a hand.
That it’s impossible to explain these things in the second they happen leaves a terrible feeling in my stomach, especially knowing that it’s probably happened to her 100 times that day alone.