I hate my wet-noodle forearms. I’ve spent 5,000 hours squeezing tennis balls to no avail. My brothers and father have bigger forearms. Most of my teachers, the crossing guards, even my priests have had bigger forearms. My editors out-forearm me. My mother, God bless her, had much bigger forearms.
I hate summer just as much, where you must wear short-sleeved shirts. I hate getting on the subway and seeing my reflection in the opposite window revealing pea-shooters where normal forearms should be. I especially hate when I have to stand and grasp the overhead bar for support. The entire car stares at my minimalist body part: This, I’m sure.
Sometimes guys with big forearms will take pity on me and compliment my shoulders. I do have wide shoulders, but you can’t shake hands with shoulders. An obvious side effect of skinny forearms is a weak handshake. All my life I’ve had to disguise a grimace when shaking with muscle-slabbed forearm guys. Guys can sense that and some let up and allow me to save face.
It’s the women who are the real sadists. Women with strong handshakes sense weakness and go in for the kill. They’ll give you one quick, powerful pump and squeeze, then release before you have a chance to respond. It’s too late by then – you’ve lost and both of you know it. You will never sleep with a woman with a stronger handshake. An added liability is I don’t have any calluses on my hands. It’s hard developing calluses if all you do is click computer keys and start your car.
At weddings no one dances with me because, I’m certain, I have stick-figure forearms. I have stood at bus stops and experienced strangers giving me spare change out of compassion for my deformity. The only real advantage connected to this problem – it cured me from picking my nose, which meant staring down at my putrid forearms.
Hair is not the problem. I’ve got plenty of it from wrist to elbow. Proportion is not the problem – the rest of me is also skinny. Perception IS the problem. Society expects men to have rippling muscles in certain areas. It doesn’t matter if your belly’s oversized or your feet are big and flat. Even neck waddle is acceptable. Not attractive, but acceptable. But if a guy falls below a certain squeeze factor a sense of despair sets in. Desperation is NEVER attractive.
Needless to say, I hated shaking hands with my mother. – Joe DelPriore
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