When I hear the word “delicate” I think of old lace with browning edges. My grandmother comes to mind. She used to say, “Be careful with me, I’m delicate.” Occasionally the word fragile would replace delicate in that sentence, but it mattered none. It meant the same thing. It meant she was sick. Back when she was younger—healthier—she never would have admitted to her fragility, even if she was falling apart. I suppose acceptance comes with age. My mother hasn’t gotten to the acceptance stage yet. “Delicate” doesn’t imply that you’re weak, though, I don’t think. Perhaps it’s similar to unstable, certainly similar to fragile. I can see thin tea cups and saucers breaking simply by placing them on the table. Just the way a broken bone is delicate. You have to treat it with extreme care. I’ve never broken a bone, but I haven’t been the most careful child either. Maybe I’m just lucky.