Narrator.

This evening I was narrating my life. I know it sounds weird, but for a moment I was.

My ParentalUnit was telling me a story my Other Parental Unit told him earlier in the night. It was a passage from a book called Alice, Let's Eat by Calvin Trillin. It was a recipe (of sorts) of how to make carpe, which is a particularly boney, kind of ewwww fish. It said to nail the carpe to a plank. Then, you grill the carpe until the side of the plank is burnt. Then you flip the plank over, and cook the new side until it's burnt. Then, you eat the plank.

Well, at the moment he told me this, I couldn't laugh because I was brushing my teeth. And it isn't wise to laugh, while one is brushing one's teeth.

So, I held up one finger in a paused-moment sort-of fashion; telling him that I would be with him momentarily. And then I would, indeed, tell him my true reaction/witty answer to his story.

And I found myself looking in the mirror while I held up my finger. Holding up one, long, boney, crooked finger to tell him to wait. She realized that fingers are genuinely twisted things. Sort of haggish, yet pretty in their own way. She thought, Powerful things really, you can say so much with one's fingers. Like symbols for words. They can truly mean a lot.

Have you ever realized how crooked your fingers are. Go on, look at them. And when you put them together in a salute form, they always fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Weird, isn't it?

In case you were wondering, that was me narrating my life a paragraph ago. You know, the italicized block of word-age. Just In Case.