Hopefully this wont scar...

My finger is starting to peel where I burned it on the toaster oven. Its not pretty, and it did hurt when it happened. I just wanted my bread sufficiently toasted...anyway. It doesnt hurt anymore when I wash my hands in warm water. You know how burns are, whenever hot or even warm water hits them they start to burn again...

But even greater than that, my dreams are shattered. I dont think I will even become a hand model like I always wanted to. Since I was a little girl, I knew very well that I wanted to be a hand model; sitting around, doing very little, never drawing or writing for fear of marring my perfectly symmetrical and proportionate hands...getting expensive manicures and never doing labor...ah the dream. I believe it was stemmed from my actual situation as a child. Rachel as a child was very grubby and bit her fingernails, even after digging in the dirt. And very often her fingertips were stained purple from her weekly chore up picking up olives that the tree in the front yard had dropped. I remember wishing I had beautiful and clean hands even then.



As I got older I still had fleeting wishes to be a hand model. I knew it was the easier side of modeling, and my weight or face mattered not. The hands spoke to people, elegantly displaying a new ring or bracelet, perhaps gently brushing the keys of the latest of keyboards or pianos. The world of hand modeling was infinite, and I was young, alive, and had beautiful fingers.

Years went by, and I was under constant pressure to pursue that career. My parents, my friends, even some of my teachers were egging me on. I remember my freshman year of high school, I had scribbled a bunch of stuff on my hands and my geometry teacher scolded me. "Rachel, your dreams of being a hand model will be shattered if you keep drawing on your hands!" I knew he was right, and at that moment, I gave up.

I knew it was encoded in my genes that I would have beautiful hands, yet I was cursed with a love of nail biting and digging in the dirt. So I continue to live with myself, dissatisfied in my paroxal existence, yet content with the fact that I have other career options.

And of course every few months, this conversation with a new stranger brightens my day, leaving me with a new found confidence:

"Woah, lady! Are you a professional hand model?"
"Who me?"
"Yeah! Your hands...they are gorgeous!"
"Gee thanks..."
"...Seriosly lady, never have I seen such beautiful hands! Could I have a picture? Maybe a high five?"
"Of course," I say. Because I always have time for the little people...