In a former life I was a petite and dainty lady with super slim fingers, I think. Not creepy long and skinny ones but the kind that look really nice with rings on and get hired for cream adverts (or whatever you hire lovely hands for). And in that life I was really well off due to all the adverts I was being hired for. So when I died, life was like “It’s not really fair if we give her teeny hands again next time around. I know, let’s give her THE BIGGEST LADY HANDS EVER instead”. And it’s because of this Karmatic (is that a thing?) Hand Justice that I nearly fell into The Sanguine Hole last night.
My parents are both pretty creative people – a trait I am proud to say passed on to me. My Mum spends her weekends sewing quilts, painting walls and making fancy dress outfits for my nephews. My Dad fixes up his motorbikes, hand-makes wooden cheeseboards and lays carpet in our jigsawy (call Oxford, there’s a new adjective for the dictionary) house. They also FINISH these things – a trait which I have unfortunately NOT been blessed to receive.
Hello there humanlings.
(Humanlings makes us sound like pets. I imagine us tiny, with no bones, just squidging around and trying to high-five with our floppy limbs and there’s some giant creature sitting in a room in another galaxy far, far away laughing it’s head off – not literally cus then we’d be extinct – every time someone gets a smack in the face.)