An Aunty, for Real

I'm an aunty, no doubting that fact anymore. I figure I've arrived at auntyhood when today, at Tesco, I went in search of the handgloves that aunties wear when driving. This being a tropical-weathered country, we could do little to avoid the sun bearing down hard on us from 9 a.m. to 6.45 p.m. daily. I know very well about the sun beating down on my skin because I'd be driving home before 7 p.m. As I gleefully tell anyone who cares to listen (that goes from Shaw Feng nine times out of 10, to the Mercedes-Benz service advisor), I start work at 7 a.m., way before most people have climbed out of bed.
I digress. Anyway, back to hand gloves. I've thought them a good idea but never saw the need for them, even when Woan told me about them many years back. But lately, I've noticed my watch leaving a strip of my left wrist fairer than the other part. That's a bit worrying, considering I'm in the office 7 t0 5 these days. Coming to the conclusion that it's the sun while I'm driving, coupled with seeing my doctor walk into the clinic one day with these hand gloves, I became convinced I needed my pair. They are almost like long socks but with cut-off toes. With garters on both ends, they stand in place. Mine has frilly white ends. Let's see how long I keep up with slipping them on. The real aunty will persist, I'd think. All for the sake of not having pigmentation.