Fingers

This morning I started thinking about what we call our fingers. Each one has a special name, or a name related to its purpose, except for the middle finger. Thumb, special. Pointer, purpose. Ring, purpose. Pinky, special. The middle finger is just there in the middle, like a passed-over middle child, and it’s pissed. Perhaps that is why aiming the middle finger at another person is an affront. It’s the surliest of all fingers. Cut me off in traffic, well, sullen, disruptive finger right at ya, then.

Some people look like fingers. I had a French teacher in high school who looked like a thumb, and his name sounded like “thumb,” which made for a great nickname. It was perfectly innocent, but at the risk of being slanderous, I’ll keep it to myself. Actually, now that I think of it, I know some one now who looks like a thumb, and even though he is a cute thumb, I will keep that to myself as well. Not everyone considers “You’re such a cute thumb!” a compliment.

Oh, also, I know two guys who look like toes. But that’s totally* different.

*Or should I say “toe-tally different?” Thank you very much! I’ll be here all week.