Random Tuesday Thoughts that Mostly Have to Do with the Size of my Hands

Yesterday I think I went a little too all out on the Wii Active. My pleasant but somewhat dense virtual trainer (does anyone think she really sees me?) suggested that I let all my frustrations out during the two minutes of boxing. Remote and numchuck firmly grasped in fists, I happily ripped the air in front of me a new one.

Now for the first time I know what this “rotator cuff” injury  is, that I’ve often heard people complain about. Or maybe this is something else, because I thought the bastard was just in the shoulder. I was wrong. Apparently the trauma radiates aggressively right on down the entire arm and makes the spot between my thumb and forefinger swell.

After 40 some years, just when I am motivated to pump out 1000s of words a day, I can’t write in my favorite mode. That would be longhand which for most of us requires use of thumb and forefinger. I thank the Lord that at least finger keyboard typing isn’t the same as Blackberry thumb typing. How do those crazy kids today type so fast with their thumbs? Is it an evolution thing?

I’ve never until just this moment understood the line, “it’s not like they’re going to take your thumbs.”

Whenever I shake hands with people, mostly the men with normal sized man hands, they quickly release as if they may have caused serious injury. Except for that little thing called living, or sun damage, my hands resemble those of a petite 8 year old. This translates into my fist sharing much in common with a bumpy and mottled, yet healthy sized farm egg.

My question of the moment is: Do I have to use my own fist when determining a serving size of protein? If so I deem this mightily unfair and wonder why this petite business couldn’t have genetically affected other extremities like perhaps my thighs? And wouldn’t it be great if portion control meant eating portions of protein commensurate with the size of my rear end? Feel free to lie to me.

When I was in middle school in the 70s they used to have a “special” day once every month or two, and call it “Terrific Tuesday.” One time it was fun because we went on a field trip where we got to sing “99 bottles of beer on the wall.” I think it is a pretty funny thing to remember a busload of topsider shod girls from an all girls school belt out while plowing down the highway in a luxury bus. When the powers that be switched to “Wonderful Wednesday” it was never the same. Maybe it was the other way around. Who do they think they were fooling?

For more Tuesday babbles, head over to visit Keely at The Un Mom