Friday, August 27, 2004

Bill Clinton's Hands: An Important Lesson for All Men

I like man hands. First thing that attracted me to my husband, other than his delicious scent and large head, were his hands. I like big, strong hands, hands that complement gold rings, hands that make calluses seem sexy. Hands lead up to forearms, which, as most women would agree, are pure foreplay. Most of us can get worked up over the mere sight of a well-turned, beefy forearm.

Which, believe it or not, leads me to this:

President Clinton was on The Daily Show last night promoting his memoirs. Yah, I realize it's a repeat, but I missed the first go-around. Anyway, I feel bad about the whole obligatory media junket thing, that this man must go out and promote his book like, say, Pamela Anderson. Or Jenna Jameson. Seems so, I dunno...Gross. Buy My Life! Like me, please! Gawd. Just not befitting of a man whom I consider to be one the greatest Americans of our time. And I absolutely hate that his book hasn't exactly received glowing reviews. Critics have described it as overblown, boring...You know what? It's a presidential MEMOIR, assholes! Bill can't be publicly ruminating on wrongs done to him (though there were so many, it boggles the mind), and he can't be describing his indiscretions in salacious detail. He can't name too many names and tear bodices and comment ruefully about he and Hill's intimate moments during some the most difficult times of his term, nor can he point fingers, whine, swear, pump up the volume. He is not a writer, and he didn't have a ghost fluffing and tweaking and buffing his words to comfortable, silky perfection. He wrote it all by himself, and he managed to produce something that is *appropriate* for a man of his importance, nothing more, nothing less.

'Kay, now on to Bill Clinton's hands. They are, without a doubt, the sexiest pair of hands ever to hang from a politician's appendages. I always found him attractive, anyway, but last night it was his hands that captivated me. They are huge, like the Jolly Green Giant's, only they aren't green, and they are graceful, manly; while staring at those hands, I imagined them splayed across the ivories, deftly sweeping over the keys, then, in one fell swoop, picking up that piano and hurling it across the room, veins bulging with effort. I became hypnotized by his hands as he chatted with Stewart, enchanted. I was so busy with Clinton's hands, I actually missed some of the conversation, kind of tuned out. There were other things I imagined as well, but out of respect, I shall not go into them.

He has thick, long, beautifully sculpted fingers.

Which, appallingly, leads me to this:

Men, be assured that it isn’t all about the wallet or the hairline, or even the package -- it’s about the hands, papas. The hands. So please do adorn them with jewelry (remember, though, less is more), trim your nails, use a good hand cream, and be gentle with those hands of yours. Touch nice-nice, never raise them in anger or ball them into fists. You’ve got the power, so use it wisely.


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