Yes, it’s true. I’ve lived the high-profile, ultra-swinging lifestyle of Volunteer Hand Modeling.
By day, I worked in the art department of a camping/outdoor recreation product company. But by night (or by late afternoon or over lunch, anyway) I entered the glamorous world of non-paid hand modeling.
Oh, sure, it started during a camp coffeemaker photoshoot, when we realized that a hand needed to be in one of the shots. The photographer asked to see my hands, thinking that perhaps they would not be terribly offensive. Little did he know! My goddess-like appendages glowed as though lit from within by some sort of God-like…um…God-light. Yes, like ET’s heartlight, my handlights shone like a beacon.
The photographer dropped to his knees, shielding his eyes from the beauty of my hands, begging me to capture my mitts forever on film. And so, gentle reader, I held that coffee cup. I held it with a skill rarely seen. The assembled project managers and art directors wept softly in the background. My hands were Platonic perfection, other hands merely a shadow cast on a wall.
That time Dave said I had Visitor Fingers? Choke on it, dearest Dave. You’re jealous because you have hot dog fingers.
My fame has only grown. Recently I hired a team of eunuchs to proceed me everywhere I go, opening doors, feeding me, and even typing my blog entries. Anything to reduce wear and tear on my precious, precious hands. Such is the price of success. I owe it to the world, really. Who am I to deny you all the glory that is my hands? Come bask in the healing light of my hands. Come. The power of my hands compels you.
***the above tale may have been slightly exaggerated. okay, it was very exaggerated. my hands do appear on several Coleman packages, though. but it’s only ’cause I worked at Coleman, so they don’t have to pay me***
