My mom would often share excess hand cream with me when I was a kid.
After crossing herself, she lay back on the divan and squirted a cool puddle of hand lotion from the bottle she’d brought from London. Invariably she would apply too much, and her hands would be slick and shiny in the candlelight as she asked for another pair with which to share the excess.
A Constellation of Vital Phenomena by Anthony Marra
Bewildered Creatures 