Don't hate me because I'll never hand model...(hate me because I never wanted to. I think.)

(Pre-Script: This post is the most pleasing and attractive when paired with the song, "Single Ladies," #43 on the playlist, OR " Not Your Average Girl," #14 on the playlist, so go down to the playlist, click on those songs, then come back and resume reading...I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

And now let's get back to the to the business at hand.

Which is the business of hands.

Two of my fingers are crooked. I will never be a hand model. I have never wanted to be a hand model. Consciously, at least. This is probably crushing to some unconscious part of myself, some "inner child" I have yet to discover who is hiding in a dusty corner of my mind, back there behind the self esteem tapes and what not...she keeps pushing "play" on the tape, then sulking in her corner with her arms crossed and a pout as she silently nurses her dream that cannot be. She is sitting with all of the other inner children, each one baring a separate unmet dream I do not consciously realize I am nursing. All my nursing babies, sulking in the hopeless dreams corner. 'wonder how many of them there are in there...

"But Michelle,"

I can just hear my Imaginary Reader interrupting,

"Michelle, have you considered that your inner child may be neglected because while the rest of the world moved on to C.D.'s and mp3's and whatnot, she is still listening to "tapes,"did you ever think of that, Michelle?"

That would be a good point, Gentle Reader, except that if she is my inner child, then she is therefore stuck in the age I was when my Outer was also a child, which was when tapes were progressive, the next big thing since records.

"Wow, Michelle, I did not even think about that. Sorry to have interrupted, please continue."

Thank you, Gentle Reader. I will.

Ahem.
Yeah, probably, or maybe not. I think I'm pretty aware of my unmet dreams. Like that one about...- OH, OH, and that other one about...-Yeah, those are good dreams. Hand modeling was never one of them. I mean, think about it, can you imagine being one of those people who have certain body parts insured? It would make you consider how much that finger or toe is worth to you, and if it is worth allowing some injury to take place, if the insurance money is more than what you estimate that body part to be worth. This quick money making scheme will not work if you realize that all of your parts are priceless. I think that I am one of those who believes that all of my body parts are priceless...but then again, no one has ever offered to insure any of my parts. Maybe I'll change my mind if anyone ever offers. Oh, relax, relax, don't get yourself all worked up that I just said that, I'm just kidding, I'm sure that I am just kidding. But then again, NO ONE HAS EVER OFFERED....

(are you paying attention, agent who is looking to photograph hands with crookedness in the two fingers and other issues? In my defense, the fingernails are unusually strong and fast growing. One press on my nails, and you will swear I do nothing but eat jello all day. But I digress.)
I mean, What If you were sitting at a restaurant drinking a soda, and just the right person saw you holding your can, and the way you tipped it, and said to you, "That hand is exactly what I am looking for, I want to take pictures of it all day long, and I will pay you a hefty sum of money just because you were born with that particular feature, then ate lunch at this particular restaurant on this particular day when I ate lunch here, too." I guess that is how you become a hand model. It's improbable, but not impossible. NOTHING is impossible. Don't ever give up on your dreams.
(Cue the Miss America Music to a slow fade out...let the tears flow freely as your inner children all uniformly rise and begin to chant inside your mind, "they like me, they really, really like me...")

-XOXO,