It’s always struck me as funny that the term “hand job” exists. Of the JOBS out there, it’s a fairly easy one (unless you have carpal tunnel syndrome… then it’s a real pain in the wrist.) But for most people, it’s a squeeze and a pump and a repeat until it’s over.
But I guess there in lies the problem with calling it a “job.”
Job’s aren’t fun. Jobs are jobs. Jobs are working at the bank for 8 hours and a 30 minute lunch break with Gladys who talks too much about her couch covers. Jobs are driving around, scooping up golf balls while old men and frat boys hit balls at you, with the only thing stopping you getting a head caving brain injury, is a rusty cage that’s older than you.
That’s a job. Jobs suck (but that’s another article entirely.)
But an “old-fashioned”… now that’s a title more suitable to the generous, wrist shaking kindness someone gives another. It’s timely. Elegant in it’s simplicity, and with an aroma of class. For an old fashioned, you might shine your shoes, part your hair, and iron your shirt. For an old fashioned, you might get a little lube or a nice lightly scented oil take your time. For an old fashioned, you might not cry at the end of it.
“Ye olde rub’n tug” has a similar joie de vivre, but is a bit more playful and induces the fun out door feelings of a farmer’s market or a drive in movie theater.
In this day and age, where we’re all so damn bitter and disconnected, I say we take back this simple delicacy of yore and start calling this kindness by a more suitable name.
Next to tackle? “Finger blasting.”
Just… no.
Thoughts?
You tell me.
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