Man Door Hand Hook Car Door

I look in the mirror and see my mother. Well, I see her hands. Boney, blue veined and shadow-puppeting Groucho Marx with a tube of red lipstick held between two stiff fingers and an opposable thumb. Two broken rings and a wonkey index tell tales of a childhood knuckle-cracking habit, leash training Huskies, and that time I shut my hand in Skiz’s car door. They’re certainly not pretty and are my version of the portrait in the attic. I hear that cosmetic surgeons can take fat out of your ass and inject it into the tops of your hands. High-five.

Inspired by Tuesday’s Manicure. Knit Night photo by Laurie.