It’s getting close. Even if there weren’t obscene, saccharine displays of pink and red ornamentation everywhere, I’d still be able to feel it in my very bones. That special time of year when I begin seeing my right hand in a…different light.
Sure, much of its current function is for simple, menial tasks – opening a door, moving and clicking the mouse, basic hygiene. However, for this one bright shining moment of singularity, it almost begins to collect a sort of ‘attractive sheen’ around it, kinda like the fuzzy lens that the directors used on old Star Trek episodes to make the women ‘appear’ prettier. I can’t help but notice that it outshines the left, far less dextrous sibling on the opposing arm. Wait, can hands be siblings?
But I digress.
Its moves are more graceful, smooth and agile now. It is a very fair extremity to look upon, indeed. As it turns up to meet my gaze, I can almost feel a palpable pulse of anxiety at what it knows it will have to accomplish two days from now. I know every dermal ridge upon those fingertips so very well, after all, and know what its capable of. Still, I know it wants it. Look what it’s wearing, for chrissake. Trampy little fleshpaw. I know exactly where it’s been lately. I know it gets around, up at all hours of the night knocking things over and keeping me awake.
Well, not so much recently – but in the past? A scarlet rogue meat claw, to be sure.
Until the 14th, my phalanged beauty. It cannot come fast enough.