My Moronic Left Hand

I went under the knife early yesterday to repair my latest trigger finger which brings me up to 30%. Only seven more to go! The procedure has a comfortable familiarity nowadays, what with the attentive nurses (gotta love all that female attention), the backless gown and fabulous hairnet, plus enjoying juice and toast while wrapped in a warm blanket afterwards. And, of course, being carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey on Nov 20 has an ironic charm all its own.

However on this occasion, the hedonistic pleasures of the surgical experience itself are somewhat mitigated by the aftermath. Until now, the treasonous digits have resided on the left flipper. This time, it seems, my right hand is the operative appendage and, it being temporarily useless, I am now leading with my left which has resulted in numerous inconveniences and faux pas. Eating an omelette or a bowl of cereal with the left paw has the awkward feel that a non-primate might have attempting such a feat. The left member has no idea how to use a toothbrush or perform some other personal hygiene activities which I prefer not to specify. How people living in other cultures get along that way I have no idea.

In sum, my left hand is a moron. All it's good for is typing, playing the bass, and acting as righty's sidekick and straight man. Pathetic. I've lost all respect for it.

As a side note, check this website for further information on the causes of my dilemma.