Badfinger

I was just looking at my digits dialing the office phone and HOLY DA-YAMN, my hand can grace the poster of a bad horror flick. My fingers are long and skeletal; compulsive knuckle-cracking has given me huge knobbly joints; play-fights with my dogs have given me small brown splotches; my skin is corrugated with tendons, lined with deep-set wrinkles and embellished with random streaks of green and purple. If I stretch out and curl my fingers and pull my thumbs back, my hands look like the appendages of a mutant canary.

I wonder what they'll look like when I'm 80. I hope my grandkids will understand the concept of unconditional love.