The Other Hand

I really should learn to be more specific in my requests. When I asked the Universe last week for something light and fun to write about this week, I didn't mean "make me suffer so I can have something for people to laugh at." But that's exactly what happened.

Whenever I spend too much time writing and typing and quilting, my right wrist lets me know. That's what happened on Monday. After days of (over)work and letter writing and sewing, the tendinitis in my right wrist made a return appearance. This happens about once a year, so I know exactly how to treat it: soak in warm water with Epsom salts, take a pain killer, wear my wrist brace for 7-10 days.

This time around, however,  I had read an article that led me to try an experiment. The article described a study that concluded people who eat with their non-dominant hand tended to eat more mindfully and eat less. I figured, why not give it a shot? After all, my right wrist could use the rest!

What on Earth was I thinking?

My left hand is more vestigial organ than equal partner. Whatever the opposite of ambidextrous is, that's what I am. I step heavier with my right foot. I have better vision in my right eye than my left. I cannot walk up or down stairs unless I take the first step with my right foot. That's how right-dominant my body is. Whatever made me think I'd be able to use my left hand to accurately balance and guide an eating utensil?

Eating Monday's sandwich wasn't too bad, though it would have been more successful if I'd used leaf lettuce instead of shredded. (Lettuce here, lettuce there, lettuce lettuce everywhere!)

Tuesday night's broccoli and baked potato was more of an adventure. Have you ever seen someone try to catch a chicken? The chickens run all over the place, flapping their wings, jumping off the ground, anything to avoid being caught. My broccoli and potato became chickens. The little buggers scurried all over the plate trying to escape while my uncoordinated left hand tried to stab them.

The pièce de résistance, however, was last night's chicken soup. (Another "What was I thinking?"moment.) You know how babies end up with food all over their faces, their bibs, their high chairs, and the floors around them? There's more food on and around the baby than in the baby? That was me eating soup with my left hand. While I did manage to avoid spilling soup on the floor, I wasn't so good at keeping the soup off me, my clothes, or the table. (Laundry is going to be a joy.)

Call me a coward, but I think tonight I'll go back to eating with my right hand.