I have small hands. Now, granted, if I were a male of the species this admission might mean so much more than it does. In fact as I type this I shudder to think of how many more dating atrocities might have befallen me if men were looking at me as a potential play partner based upon the size of my mitts.
Would I have gotten less action than I got in my
early 20’s? It’s hard to imagine and, really, this becomes another
installment in one of those new math books that highlight negative numbers.
I know it may be difficult to believe, but I was desperately shy in the
dating department and have been known to literally run away from a conversation
from a potential suitor. (Perhaps the use of the word “suitor” is also a
tip-off as to my Victorian proclivities.)
Let us rejoin my observation about my small hands. People never believe me...that I have small hands because, you see, I am not a small woman. While I may not be classified as “big and beautiful” for so many reasons I am 5’7” and I weigh anywhere from the 140’s to the 150’s. (Like my age, I now provide a realistic range because my stats change dependent upon who’s asking and why.)
These small hands create moments of hilarity when not only are people amazed when they put their mano up to my mano and mine is oh-so-small, but I have trouble grasping regular-sized containers having to “two hand” it like I was always cautioning my kids to do when they were toddlers.
You might wonder how it even comes up that people notice I have small hands? Are you envisioning me standing at a fast food counter somewhere unable to pick-up my just-ordered beverage and someone comes along and says “Can I help you with that large drink little lady?” You may not have been seeing that, but now I’ve given you the visual. You’re welcome.
Nope, that’s not how it happens. Sometimes it’s because I am doing some sort of task like shuffling cards (Okay, I was desperate because I’m not editing these things.
In point of fact I shuffle cards about once every 10 years.) Someone says, “Oh my gawd, your hands are so small. I compare my hand to their hand in the time honored tradition of holding them up patty cake style and we chuckle about how “cute” they are and I ALWAYS have to say, “I have small feet too.” (Which is another column because, yes, I have small feet and people really do notice those all on their own for some reason, further confirming my suspicion that no one is looking at my prior to middle age distinguishable above the shoe line body characteristics.)
But usually I bellow it out all on my own as though I’ve got some sort of body part Tourette’s Syndrome as I shout, “I have small hands!” I’m not sure why I do this. Maybe it’s a distinction I’m proud of and in this world of everyone being famous for 15 minutes or more and proving it on youtube I’m struggling to find my place in this world.
The funny thing is that my hands look JUST like my father’s, so I take after him with regard to both my hands AND my chest. This may explain why people notice me more for the former than the latter.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Small Hands, Warm Heart
After a ten-year career in television broadcasting, Diane wended her way toward the educational arena teaching Generation Y-ME?! while earning her Master of Arts in English. Her numerous publishing credits include her master’s thesis on the work of writer, Langston Hughes, CHANGING THE EXCHANGE, books MATERNAL MEANDERINGS, LAST CALL, KILL-TV, and I’LL ALWAYS BE THERE FOR YOU...UNLESS I’M SOMEWHERE ELSE?!, poems, feature stories, blogs, and numerous essays that have appeared in The San Francisco Chronicle, Bigger Law Firm magazine, the Sacramento Business Journal, MORE magazine (on-line), NPR’s This I Believe, and Sacramento magazine.