I want to do big things with my small hands. For example, there are several difficult guitar riffs I want to learn, but these riffs require heroic finger stretches across the guitar’s neck. With practice I believe I can figure out how to play the riffs with my small hands. If I succeed, I think people will be impressed when they see my small hands moving up and down the fretboard at high speed, accomplishing things that come much easier to people with large hands.
When I was younger, I wanted to be an NFL quarterback. I was a decent athlete, and I threw a beautiful spiral, but as I got older and moved to a larger football, I couldn’t grip it properly. My spirals became wounded ducks and I began to understand that I was not going to be an NFL quarterback.
My first job out of college was in the advertising department of Ringling Brothers circus. One of the girls in my department loved my hands. She constantly compared them to the cute hands of her little brother. One night after work she invited me out for a drink. I told her I had to wax my car. I knew this was a lame excuse, but I didn’t want to spend time with someone who said I had baby hands.
I think most people, if asked, would say they prefer men who have large, powerful hands like you see in the movies and on TV. Clint Eastwood in the Dirty Harry movies or John Hamm as Don Draper in Mad Men are two such men. They use their large hands to shoot guns, beat the shit out of people and embrace women.
I’ve been dating a woman at work for the past couple of months. Her name is Rose and she has never said anything about my hands. Oddly, she keeps pictures of her ex-boyfriend around her apartment. In one picture he’s at the beach holding a pitcher of beer and his hand is the size of an oven mitt. This is a guy she almost married. She won’t tell me why they broke up.
When I embrace Rose I try my best to channel the way I feel directly to my fingertips. I realize this sounds kind of strange and I have no idea if she feels anything. I’m afraid to ask. I’m sure Rose has noticed my small hands and I have to believe she has compared them to her ex-boyfriend’s hands. I try not to dwell on this. Instead I focus on how good I feel when Rose is in my arms. Whether she feels the same or whether she feels like she’s being poked with super-tiny baby fingers is something I guess I’ll never know.
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