Man Hands

Today I was told I have "monkey hands." My friend who said such said it in jest, and my feelings weren't hurt. But I looked down at my hands and thought of girls I knew who have beautiful hands. Who have perfectly manicured nails and soft skin. I still remember, to this day, that the girl that my 8th grade boyfriend dated after me had the softest hands in the world. I hated her for it. That and she stole my boyfriend.

Anyway, when I drove home from work today, some of my own words came back to haunt me. Once, I remember saying to someone that "looking at someone's hands is like looking at their soul." One can tell what kind of person someone is by looking at their hands. It's easy. You can tell if they're young, old, privileged, hardworking, meticulous, sloppy...

My hands are huge. Seriously. I have long, long hands... with long skinny fingers. I would rather think of them as "piano hands" rather than "monkey hands" but being a climber, I guess I take the monkey comment as a compliment. My hands have always been an insecurity of mine. I bit my nails for ages (the expulsion of nervous energy from being so type-A, I imagine). Also, because I've always had such big hands, they tend to be larger than most guys' hands. Thus, I was always so scared my hands were going to be larger than the guy in which I was interested.

So today, as I was driving home, hands on the steering wheel, I thought about what I was seeing in front of me. Callused palms from climbing. Ugly, short fingernails with dirt under them from working all day today. Raw hangnails exposing fresh flesh. Knobby knuckles that pop on their own accord. I like to think of myself as a pretty feminine person... but what do my hands say about me? I guess they tell their own story.