Nimble

They are not fooling anyone with those Lone Ranger Masks, a disguise as thin as Clarke Kent’s glasses.

But they are SUPER with their hands.  Opening garbage cans, unwrapping tender fish guts – believe me you don’t know the half. 

My watch was drying outside on the picnic table, after falling haphazardly into the lemonade.  The one that must have been the mom took it apart with her tiny nimble fingers, smelling it and licking the acrid sweetness off its dials and leather band.  It keeps time so much better than it used to.  The swish swish of the minute hand is now barely audible yet comforts me while I toil away on spreadsheets and in endless meetings.

It’s only the 9-5 that keeps them out of Architecture or shoe repair.   Baking would be a breeze if they could resist slinking away to the dark recesses of the building with all the chocolate.