Shake on it
by Rob Gruen
Ever Since
Trump became president my right hand has been
trying to kill me. It goes for my throat at the
most inopportune moments. On the subway, at the
movies, in the shower at the YMCA, and right in
the middle of client presentations. If it wasn't
for my left hand — which is pretty weak,
after all — prying my right hand away as I
gasp for air, I'm not sure where I'd be.
The wrist,
fingers, and thumb are all in on it, requiring
far more collusion than, say, a Dr. Stangelove
Nazi arm salute. That gesture might have buoyed a
few deranged stragglers at a Charlottesville bus
depot, but it also left me denying my right hand
everyday venues. Trust me, it'll never take the
wheel!
A big thumbs
up for my left hand, though, as weak as it is,
for coming to terms with the inevitable. A US
Presidency is four years, and while the left
takes some solace in a dogged special prosecutor,
the right may be too far gone to appreciate even-handedness,
deciding instead to go straight for the jugular!
And while I've come to terms with the mild
migraines that greet me every day since the
election, and marvel at my left hand gladly
volunteering to take over mundane tasks, I'm
hardly equipped to do battle with ol' righty on
the kitchen floor, my face mashed into the kibble
most mornings.
Soon, I barred
righty from my technology and became adept at
manipulating my smartphone like a true lefty.
Admittedly, the southpaw was awkward, but at
least I knew its digits always had my best
interests at hand, navigating me to legitimate
news sites and steering clear of the bloviators
on the right. So I held my e-reader in my left
hand, keeping righty dangerously idle, drumming
its fingers on a nearby surface, plotting my
demise.
Then, one
afternoon, I dozed off. When I awoke, I
realized that righty had taken over, using my
credit card to charge extravagant rings, even
though I hate men's rings, and booking $25,000
flights on private jets to visit right-wing
relatives, when traveling commercial would have
been just as unwelcome. So I bought an oven mitt
to stifle the menace. But after a near-death
smothering in my sleep, I quickly jettisoned the
idea.
Then, one day,
I found myself on 72nd Street and Broadway, with
"Trump in 2020" leaflets and no idea
how I got them! (I suspect kleptomania but would
self-incriminate if I tried to prove it.) So
there I was, without the help of lefty, jerking
the leaflets with my right hand in front of
passersby as though attempting to hand off the
entire stack! Talk about embarrassing. If someone
had taken them, then where would my stupid right
hand be?
Anyway,
thinking back on it now, I remember what
triggered the insurrection. As I watched Trump on
TV, grinning and swaying during a traditional
male-only Saudi sword dance before a state dinner
in his honor, I knew he didn't have the slightest
idea of what he was doing, or why, when my hand
sprung up and attacked me, knocking me backward
in my chair!
At that moment,
for some strange reason, I suspected we were all
getting just what we deserved. Anyway, righty
refused to shake on it.
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