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.

Headlines and Other Nonsense

There are a lot of troubling things in the headlines lately.

But one caught my eye and made me cock my head gently to the side: Hooters Restaurant is concerned about their image. I wonder why?

I mean, I could understand their concern if their name was Biters, or say, Woofers. But Hooters? Why would they be concerned about their image? Like, what? It's gotten too clean?

And then, the other day I spoke briefly to a guy I went to  high school with - he was two years ahead of me. Something kept niggling in the back of my mind, saying that he looked familiar, and I don't mean from high school. Then it hit me. He looks just like Mr. Potato Head, and I ain't kidding.

Husband and I have changed our eating habits a little. He's lost about twelve pounds and I've lost seven. Being a man, they always do that, and it makes me mad. I don't care that we have an extra layer of fat.  But what makes me madder is I can't even tell I've lost seven pounds of blubber because this brace I'm wearing pulls all my back fat around to the front, pushes my belly fat straight up, and then bunches it all up under my...hooters.

And the restaurant is worried about their image?

They should be thinking about Mr. Potato Head and me.