When I was in primary school, there was this fvcking weird teacher who looked a bit like he’d just fallen out of one of Hunter S Thompson’s acid-dreams and he always smelt as if he’d spent the previous night in an old people’s home because he had this smell of stuffing, old slippers, piss and teacakes trailing after him. The guy didn’t have much going for him, he had a voice that was the same tone as a hungover lawnmower trying to cut up some concrete and his teeth looked like piano keys. Thinking about it now, the guy probably smelt like the furniture in an old people’s home because he must have been fvcking an oldie: he looked the type who’d get a trouser-tent if he saw an oldie so decrepit they looked as if they were made from twigs and cling film.
What made this guy so weird to us kids back in the day was that he had a really tiny hand sprouting at the end of his right arm. It looked like he’d cut off the hand of a doll and stuck it up his sleeve and whenever he waved his hand around at the board – trying to explain something to us in lawnmower language – the skin of the hand would gleam as the light hit it, making it look all waxy and as if he’d dipped it in a tub of vaseline before leaving his (old people’s) home that morning. I found it disgusting yet fascinating – the waxy hand snared my attention like a fat fvck managing to run the 100 metres in less than 5 minutes.
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There was a girl in my comprehensive school who had a tiny hand as well and she was a complete fvcking cunt of a person who was proud of losing her virginity in the back of a Fiat Punto when she was 12 and the guy was in his 20’s. She somehow managed to hang around with fit girls in the school which I never really understood because she literally had no chin – her face was joined to her body by a sort of turkey-like neck – and she always ruined my wanking sessions when I was younger. I’d picture one of the fit girls but then suddenly this tiny-handed chinless mound of skin would crash into my mind and would try to wank me off with her unformed, baby-like hand. I once had blue-balls for weeks. They were like gobstoppers at the end of it all.
So, it seems that tiny-hands really do make a difference in remembering a person. I don’t remember any other teacher from my primary apart from the small-handed man and even though I don’t really know or care about what that girl in my comprehensive does nowadays, I sometimes think: she must have a really hard time if she’s a hairdresser now or something. Imagine those withered fingers caressing your fringe.
I mean, it’s hard to forget someone who’s waving around a vaseline-glossed, plastic-doll-like hand from the end of their arm isn’t it? And, as always, Tumblr is in the same mindset as me and there’s an account – which has now been made into a website – that celebrates the magic of tiny hands. There’s some pictures below but you can check it out in full here.
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