Tuesday, December 21, 2004
story time...
I'm tired and for some reason trying to type about something real in my life is too much work, so I'm performing an experiment. I'm just going to write up a story on the fly and see where it takes me. Hopefully it'll be entertaining.
Hands. She never quite realized before how important hands were to her. Oh, she knew that she liked artistic yet masculine hands. Whenever she saw someone she thought was cute and noticed his hands were strong yet nimble, she felt a little extra thrill, quickly imagining those hands kneading and caressing and lightly thrumming. But she'd always thought it was just a frothy whipped cream frosting on a yummy lemon cake.
Today, though, as she spoke to this very cute guy - the man to whom she spoke everyday regarding work issues over the last few weeks - today she happened to really notice his hands with her quick yet thorough glance. She saw that his hands were not strong, were not all that masculine. Artistic, yes, but far more delicate in appearance then she liked, not possessing of a breadth and strength that called to her inner - and outer - woman. In that moment the excitement of speaking to this handsome man dimmed a bit. The depth of her disappointment, almost palpable, surprised her. This surprise caused her to reconsider the possible truth of her own shallowness.
Just as well her partner in conversation was married.
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