Thumbs Up

Hold your right hand up in front of you, bent at the wrist, as if you were some drunk sorority girl attempting to dance to the Bangle’s great hit “Walk Like an Egyptian.” Elbow crooked, palm parallel with the floor, fingers pointed away from you. Got it? Now with your left hand, try to pull your right thumb back to touch the inside of your right wrist. Can you do it? No? Hah! Foolish mortal. Of course not, because you, unlike mrpeenee, lack the magic of double jointed thumbs. Don’t feel bad (well, ok, maybe you can feel a little bad) just think of me as a wee bit more evolved than the likes of you.

Of course, because of my inherent goodness, I will not use this great power for world domination; and besides, I have something to do this afternoon. But don’t push me, bitch.

Sometimes when R Man is being bad, I punish him by demonstrating this esoteric skill. “Ooh, ick, eek,” he squeals like a little girl “Stop that, that’s gross.” I laugh manically, and then we go back to arguing about decorating, or the cat, or mrpeene’s predilection for wearing knit caps in public because, you know, domestic bliss and all that.