Saturday, August 25, 2012

Graf # 1 Hands

My hands are nothing special. I am nothing special. Yeah, I know it sounds harsh. I am known for being pretty hard on myself. I hate that about myself. My friends tell me it's my best attribute. I've decided that's a moot point. From a scientific standpoint  my hands are a mutation. A genetic mistake. Only someone who would really take the time to look would know that both my middle and ring fingers on each hand are crooked and slightly bent. Nothing crazy or weird, just not normal. My analogy is this- If my hands were a pair of Birkenstock's, they would be marked down and stuck with a "slightly imperfect" sticker. But someone would still buy them. They still do the job. I don't have any visible scars on them, but as you can imagine I have been the victim of 20 questions and what I call diarrhea of the mouth. Therefore the scars I do have are all in my head, imbedded flashes of the first- and last time- I have gotten a manicure, and the Asian lady who is about to soak my nails snips at me, telling me to straighten my fingers. That's just a paper cut compared to the deep gashes I received in elementary school. Lets just say that even to this day I can not hold a pencil correctly. Despite these setbacks, I am not ashamed. My hands belong to me. They are part of who I am, just one of the cards from the deck I have been dealt.


  1. I like the smooth way this follows your thought patterns and segues from the general and depressed to the description to the Birkenstock humor to the manicurist to the paper cut metaphor to the school kids teasing.

    Put like that it sounds like there might be something wrong with so much squeezed into a graf, but it's all held nicely in your head and then the reader's head, and we don't get the least bit lost or confused.

  2. Thank you. I do tend to ramble on and on so it wouldn't surprise me one bit if you end up telling me that I confuse you.