Folks, I’m part of a minority, and when I say I’m part of a minority, I mean I’m part of the 10-ish percent of people who are left-handed in this world. Now I can’t say I’ve experienced discrimination because of this, but life as a lefty has certainly been interesting. It’s opened so many possibilities.
When I think of all the unwanted conversations my left-handedness has sparked, the grotesque, graphite smudges on my hand, and the endless inventions catered to the right-handed majority, I think about how lucky I am in this life.
I, was born different. What more does a girl want?
I took all of these things in stride until one fateful day when I realized my GIFT of being a lefty is an inconvenience, a hindrance, to others. Last summer, I was sitting on my parents’ couch in the post-grad haze of applying for jobs (see post number 4) and choking on Ollie’s shedded fur floating around (#catladyfolyfeyo) when the doorbell rang.
Being the dutiful daughter that I am (and looking for any distraction from applying for jobs… like SpongeBob in the “Procrastination” episode) I went to open the door to find the mail man (JUST LIKE IN THE SPONGEBOB EPISODE!!) awaiting my signature.
In my attempt to put my signature on the electronic signing device, I knocked a button and it cleared the screen.
“Oh, I think the screen went away,” I intelligently observed, as if the screen had gone on vacation.
“It’s probably because you’re a lefty,” he noted. “This always happens with lefties.” While I like to think he meant that endearingly, his annoyance at the extra two seconds my wrong-handedness caused him was tangible. I didn’t think too much of it, though I did add “failed lefty” as one of my selling points on my resume.
Then people started sharing this Buzzfeed post with me, and my life started to make more sense.
After reading through some of these, there are a few that I’d like to highlight, and some important points that were left out.
1.) When you’re a lefty, Mailmen hate you. (The jury is still out on mailwomen and mailPEOPLE as a whole.)
2.) The difficulty to find a lefty desk? Yeah that struggle is REAL. What’s worse, is when I was in school (back in my day…), I’d hear a RIGHTY go “Aw I don’t want this lefty desk.” Meanwhile, there I was, day in and day out, sitting in right-handed desks like the stoic I am, never complaining. Those right-handers never knew how lucky they were, never knew my struggle….
3.) People comment all the TIME. Which is totally fine, except when people start saying “You’re a lefty? OMG my uncle’s third cousin twice removed is left-handed” or “INSERT family member HERE is left handed.” I mean that’s like me saying “You’re wearing socks? My grandmother wears socks!”. But hey, I like conversation, so come one by.
4.)I’ve been told that lefties have a shorter lifespan than righties. That’s… cool, right?
5.) Every time. “Wow, you have REALLY nice handwriting…for a lefty.”
6.) I’m given the third degree when I use scissors with my right hand or pick up a fork with my right hand. “Hey, I thought you were a lefty,” people will say. Like I’m a fraud. So what? I can use both hands, but I can ONLY write and play basketball with my left. Don’t make me have an identity crisis!!
7.) The graphite or ink smeared side of my hand that I got from slaving over homework. “Oh my GAWD what happened to your HAND? Is it a bruise?” people ask when they see the side of my hand. No, it’s not a bruise, I’d reassure them. But their freak out would momentarily panic and made me think I was dying (see point #4). While we’re at it, though, is it even possible to bruise that part of your hand? Because I tried (as a matter of experiment, calm down, readers) and I still can’t find a bruise. So no bruise, but I appreciate the concern!
So that, you three readers, is what life as a lefty is like. Feel free to tell your friends that I’m not an abomination.
Happy Wednesday! Huzzah!