The insecurity of cold hands is that you could search for days for warmth, but be rejected by it.
That your frigid hands could touch the skin that will potentially pull away from you.
Hands are the gates to possibilities. So when mine are numb, I could spend hours running them over something and still not feel a thing. Every goosebump you leave, and every shiver, are not considered compliments because no one invites them back.
An ice box is more inviting than me.