There was this guy someone very close to me hooked me up with a few years ago. The objective of the hook up was well defined ; marriage.

At our very first meeting, he noted that my hands were slightly – but noticeably – lighter in complexion than the rest of my arm.

I hadn’t noticed that before, but as soon as he called attention to it, I saw it and it was true.

Believe me, he didn’t make it as a passing observation. It was an inquiry that required an explanation.

Like I already said, I had never really noticed it before, so an explanation wasn’t exactly at the top of my head. I said I didn’t know why and that was true.

After a few seconds of thought, I was able to scrub up some logical explanation…. since I use the hands to smear cream over the rest of my body, the hand gets a higher concentration of skin care, hence the improved effect.

A second thought came to me; maybe he thinks I’m bleaching. I explained to him that if it was bleaching, the reverse will be the case; the rest of my body will look fresh while my hands will look like burnt dodo.

Of course all the explanations were not satisfactory to him and he did not hide it at all. But we left it at that.

Remember, this was the very first time I was meeting this person.

It was just recently that it hit me; the point he was trying to make was that since I had so nice hands, maybe I never really did much with it; house chores and probably, just probably, farm work too.

The day I thought of this, I laughed in my spirit. There I was, being put off as undomesticated just because my palms are pretty.

Can you imagine?

About me and house work, well, you’d know the magnitude and consistency of hardwork you engage in that will wear out the quality of your hands. It must be real hard labour,literally. Probably of a duration of 27 years, like Nelson Mandela.

A little background into myself. The last time I lived at home FULL-TIME was probably before the end of my primary school days. I attended a boarding school and was only home during the holidays, the longest of which lasted three months.

Even if I was engaged in Mandela kind of hard labour for those three months, it would barely be enough to dent the quality of my hands permanently, at least. As soon as the holiday was over, I returned to school and the only chores that was up to me to do was either to sweep a classroom the size of an average big-man’s parlor, or sweep a corridor with the same width and length of a Catholic church aisle in St Peter’s(Please don’t ask me which St. Peter’s) or sweep a quadrangle the size of one-tenth of half a plot of land.

Most of the time, I was assigned to do this with someone else. Aside the my mandatory community morning duties, it was up to me to keep 2-ft radius of my 6-spring bed clean, maintain my pair of day wears and pair of school uniforms and to keep my plate clean(which required only rinsing since I was always using it to drink one thing or the other).

Things remained pretty much the same in my Uni days. I had only myself to care for and clean up after.

Who would blame me for not having a robust experience in cleaning, mobbing, sweeping and all that, enough to alter the quality of my palms. Even if I spent every waking hour of my holidays engaging in domestic activities, I probably wouldn’t rake up enough works to detoriate my hands.

I don’t know if it’s important to add, my parents have many children and that was how chores was shared among us too.

Why am I narrating this? It’s to tell you how schewd some people can be and how fractured their frame of judgement is.

I have a pretty palm, so I’m not wife-material.

Of course, things didn’t work out between the young man and I. If something this petty can be elevated to pertinence on the very first day of meeting, imagine the sort of inquiry that sprang up later.

A young man like that make up the culture, defining what it should be and holding up what it is. Imagine a young male like that being in a position to advice other men. This is just one incident, imagine the plurality of beliefs and concepts that make up who he his, his expectation of the world and his experience of it.

And no, this is not an epistle of a scorned lover. We never made it to the lovers status. We ended at the “evaluation stage”. Maybe there wasn’t even love in his bounty, just a list of requirements he sort in a potential life partner.

On a lighter note, if I’m losing suitors because my palms are supple and it invariably connotes “non-domestication, ” I probably need to beef up my “work experience.” So help a dear sister, drop your home address so I can come around, one by one, just like Papa Noel from North Pole, and do some cleaning. I’m sure if I scrub and clean as many houses as possible, my hands like become like that of a miner in no time, thus, increasing my chances.

What y’all think 😏😏😏😏😏😏

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2 thoughts on “PRETTY PALMS, BAD WIFE.”

  1. Kene says:

    Hahaa… was laughing all through. This is just weird, never seen a lady judged cause of her hands. I think this your first of meeting such a guy, they are just few that think this way. Most men want their ladies skin to be as soft as you can think of. I once dated a girl whose hands where so soft that once she touches me or massage me, will never reject her request. One day you’ll meet someone that appreciate those soft and pretty hands.

    1. My dear certain things will simply shock you

      If it didn’t happen to me I would have thought it was fiction

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