I’m right-handed when I write.
Everything else…I’m a lefty.
I brush my teeth, dry my hair, use a fork (and a knife, which causes a serious conundrum), wipe my *you know* all with my left hand.
Tim calls me amphibious.
Yes, we know it is ambidextrious…WE KNOW.
We’re weird that way. We say “Ca-nadia” instead of Canada and “tar-jay” instead of Target…
Think of it as keeping daily, mundane life interesting…like when you have to make up a phrase for the naughty bedroom activity…and instead of telling your kid you’re going to rip daddy’s hair out while having crazy sex, you tell him that you and daddy have to go hang pictures…or bake cookies.
I personally think the whole cookie baking is a bad idea…you know eventually your kid is gonna be all, “WHY CAN’T I HAVE AN OVEN IN MY ROOM?…And why do I never get any of those cookies? YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE COOKIES!”
(Actually, smartass, YOU DID. See your sister over there? Cookie).
Anyhow…my point has nothing to do with cookies…or babies.
It has to do with the problems my amphibiousness causes.
I put the toilet paper and paper towel rolls the “left-handed” direction and Tim will be all, “What the hell? I’M NOT THE ONE WHO CAN USE BOTH HANDS.”
Me: What? Looks normal to me?
Tim: I don’t pull off paper towels THIS WAY.
And then I watch him struggle to rip the sheet off, left-handed.
His abilities with his left hand are like my competency with math.
Math and I have reached a mutual understanding: We leave each other alone.
Tim’s the same way with his left hand. It’s just there, in case he happens to need it. Other than that, it just hangs around, like the weird, pimply kid with zero athletic ability. No one wants him on THIER team…cause he’ll space out or something, totally missing the ball, while the other team scores. Exactly. The left hand is benched unless absolutely necessary.
So, whenever I’m putting stuff away, I have to think like a right-handed person…and that causes serious mental conflict inside my brain…I’ll sit there all… WHICH WAY? HOW THE HELL DOES THIS GO?!?
And I still put it on wrong.
Every. Damn. Time.
I’ve got a 50/50 shot at the right answer…and I lose. EVERY. DAMN. TIME.
I finally came up with visual hints for myself…like, toilet paper sheets MUST FACE THE FLOOR, NOT THE CEILING when being pulled off the roll…or else I’ll continue to hear, “SWEETHEART, WHAT THE HELL? SERIOUSLY. IT’S NOT THAT DIFFICULT.”
And…no thanks. It took me two years to remember which direction to put his clothes on a hanger. I never knew pants could like, fling themselves onto the floor all, “YOU PUT ME ON BACKWARDS, WOMAN.”
I still cannot accurately straighten a picture – and I’ve just given up on trying. My head must be crooked, cause I’ll move it and Tim will be all, “YOU THINK THAT’S STRAIGHT?!?”
Ummm…no. I just wanted to see how many degrees of crooked would still pass your inspection.