Dear Ladies, Here Is Why Your Hands Are Not Straight
It is early in the morning, about 6.00 a.m. and I am flicking my eyes relentlessly to adjust to the new dawn. It is not in my nature to wake up at this hour, but today as he had explained the previous night, demanded it. As I stare into the ceiling wondering what to do next, I realize that his breathing is no longer calm and controlled as it the norm with sleeping persons. He is awake. He knows that I am aware of his pretending but still, he goes on to act it out. He moves closer to me and drapes his left arm on my waist. I look over to his side and I can feel a trickling smile forming on my face. In the last two days, I have come to expect this scene. But today was different. I was being forced to wake up two hours too early and I was not happy about it. And neither was my body. I go into an involuntary huge noisy yawn as my body stretches the lengths and the breadths of each muscle to accommodate the new time adjustments. It’s a ritualistic happening. His arm falls to the side as my own hands rise up to the air. It feels good. My hands remain standing up as the spasm of this unusual massage takes control.
He is watching me. His eyes are open and he is focused on the suspended state of my extended arms. I do not know what in particular he is looking at but inside, a small twinge of satisfaction is growing. Is he admiring them? Are they sexy? I do not ask. Unexpectedly he rolls over to face upwards and stretches his right arm besides mine. I am surprised at what he is doing. He says nothing and continues with his study. The silence between us is not awkward but very expectant. I have no idea what is going through his head but I know what is happening inside mine. I am comparing. The length of my arm is shorter compared to his. As a matter of fact, my arm does not go beyond his wrist. His are muscular and twice the size. I notice that I do not have veins protruding. But I believe the most obvious difference is the variation of our skin colors. While he is truly a dark-skinned guy, I am overly light according to society standards. “Black and white”, I say. He chuckles, a deep throaty laugh that, like most women, I find very seducing.
“Do you know why your hand is curved out like that?” he asks. I am confused. I know my hand is curved outwards in the lower part but it has never crossed my mind before to question why that was the case. It is supposed to be normal, right? I reply with a puzzled ‘no’. He instinctively lowers his arm and lays it on the side of my left hip. There is a certain grace in the way which he does it, like that of someone who has done it before. “It’s because of this…” In an instant, the answer is clear. It makes sense. They curve outwards to create space for my ballooning hips. He goes ahead to explain that the opposite is why his hands are straight, he has no hips to block the movement of his arms during motion. It is meant to be a general observation, one of which I should have known before, but to me it isn’t. I stand up on the bed to experiment this newly acquired piece of knowledge. I discover, my arms as parallel as possible to my upper body that the curving begins at the waist and bends more outwards to the peak of the hips. I want to bend down to kiss him but instead, I look at him, bathe him in my specially served smile and choose to bask in the glow of this shared truth.
An hour later as we leave the house, it is no secret that my mind is going to be extraordinarily occupied. I intend to assess every woman I will come across. I wonder if they know what I know. I wonder if they will ever find out. He winks at me and some part of me wishes that they never do.
