Geoff Duncan

I keep waiting for an episode of Law & Order or CSI or something (heck, maybe there's already been one—I can't keep up with them all) where detectives are discussing a corpse with a medical examiner. As they list elements of the crime scene or the injuries to the body, suddenly someone says:

"Well, that can't be what happened. This person was right-handed."

The detectives take offense. "How can you tell? It's not like you can use the old trick of tossing something to see which hand they use to catch it!"

"No, see all these healed scars on the inside edge of the thumb?"

"Yeah—the left thumb!"

"Uh huh. These are scars you get from slicing thing when you're holding a knife in your right hand."

[beat]

"Oh."

So you'll never guess what happened in the kitchen this morning.

Looking at my left thumb—well, OK, imagining my left thumb, because it's currently wrapped in an industrial-strength bandage—no one would have had difficulty determining my handedness. I'm by no means ambidextrous, but even though my right side isn't as dominant as many right-handers, the inside edge of my left thumb is a cross-hatched collection of reminder of little oopsies and accidents. Opening a letter with a utility knife when I was maybe 14 years old. Exact-O knife slips cutting mattes for school art class projects. A nice, long, curved line from trying to clean a blender and carry on a conversation at the same time. A jagged gully (which still peels!) from slicing open a bagel with a table knife. (This last one was particularly funny, because I was running out the door to the airport. Had a fun time explaining to security why I was squeezing my thumb with a bloody tissue keeping it above shoulder level.)

My right thumb? No visible scars other than a weird bump on the knuckle where (I think) a sliver of glass slipped inside sweeping up after a broken window. Still feels funny sometimes.

The upshot of all this is that this morning's misadventure slicing a pear might serve to stymie the medical examiner, should I ever fall into their clutches (or get a guest spot on a crime drama). Although today's cut wasn't deep, it sure was long and broad, and I'm pretty sure I've traded most of my individual, linear scars for a single, larger one.

Which will be much less fun at parties.