Arnolfini Portrait

I love my wife but I’ve grown suspicious of her curiously long hands.

I probably should have spotted this irregularity prior to the wedding but I guess I was distracted by the vastness of her forehead and her continuous probing glower. Only when I was literally putting a ring on it did said irregularity become abundantly clear and in a profound state of PTS induced weakness, I was rendered incapable of physically pushing the wedding band beyond her knuckle. When later asked to explain the crude positioning of her ring, I panicked and told her it was for reasons pertaining to circulation. It would fend off the early onset of Raynaud’s syndrome, I said.

Armed with this misinformation, she now wears all of her rings in a similar position, midway between nail and knuckle.

My anxiety has since been further exacerbated by the revelation this afternoon that my wife is, it seems, with child. Whilst I wish I could say I was thrilled at the news, the only thing I could think was ‘what if the baby’s hands are too long too?’

She noted my unease alright, her glare taking on a notably more acidic penetrative quality. So, anxious to diffuse any unpleasantness that might ensue from the inability of my face muscles to respond with movement indicative of happiness, I instead offered an apprehensive wave by means of deflection.

The peripheral vision of my own average-sized hand has now sent me into a deep melancholy, however. Triggering you might say.

But.

In sickness and in health.

I intend to keep my word.

I’ll just need to check the feet first.