My Hands are Tied

As some of you know, my left hand is in a cast about half way up my lower arm.

I also have carpel tunnel in my right hand, and I am supposed to sleep in a brace at night.

I am fearful of clocking myself (or Husband or worse cats!) upside of the head when I am sleeping; though that is intermittent at best.

Talk about awkward! I never realized just how left handed I really am. I mean, I knew I use my left hand more than most right handed people. I can use either except for writing, and eating is strange using my left hand. But everything else my left  hand is - well, handy. It has always been my stronger hand.

There are these little knots that have formed in the palm of my hands. It is some kind of condition passed through Scandinavian blood. I am fully Scots/Irish/Cherokee except one of my 32 great-great-great-grandmothers was Dutch. Thanks a lot, Betsy. Why couldn't she have passed on the ability to grow great tulips or something? But noooo, she has to pass on something that may cause my fingers to bend toward my palm. Sheesh.

My grandfather had it. My aunt had it. I guess it's my turn.

And not to be too graphic, but just imagine trying to pull up your drawers with a cast on one hand and a brace on the other.

Uh-huh. Not a pretty sight. Not that it was in the first place, but I need sympathy here.


Now I know how those lobsters in the tank at Red Lobster feel with their little hands tied together. Aren't you ashamed that you eat them?

No?

Well, you should be.

That's not to say I wouldn't, if I could. But I can't hold anything with which to eat without looking like a two year old.

However; this too shall pass.

After all, (as of today) I am only 64 years old. Plenty of time for something new to tear up or wear out.

Strolls off humming happy birthday to self.

Compliments from Husband

So, yesterday I am getting ready for church. I have a new dusty brown jacket (for me anyway, it's a hand-me-down) and an old scarf that matches perfectly with a dark brown background and swirls of pink and peach roses. I also have a peach sweater to go under it. My hair is actually behaving for 5 minutes, and as I put on make-up I decide on a rose lipstick. 

Now, as a general rule, I wear neutral or a pale pink. This lipstick was a deep rose - not red - but pretty bright.

Husband takes one look at me and cocks his head to the side. "Should you blot that to make it, um, dimmer?"

"No, it's already blotted. Don't you like it?"

He's silent for a minute, contemplating. "Yeah, I like it. It just takes some getting used to. The rest of you is so -"

What is he going to say? Refer to my porcelain skin? My fair beauty? What?

"The rest of you is so beige."

There you have it boys and girls. I am beige.

Next time someone asks you what I look like, just tell 'em I'm beige.

With really pink lips.