All Thumbs

I finally manage to get my pants buttoned on the fourth try. I've had to dig out a pair from before I lost weight, because the splint on my left hand won't let me grip the fabric enough to button pants that fit properly. Even with the extra slack, it's difficult.

"God damn it, I hate this," I say out loud.

"Yeah, cry me a river, monkey boy."

I turn around, and the dog is lying in the hall outside the door, looking faintly reproachful. "I beg your pardon?"

"Boo, hoo, hoo," she says. "Your thumb doesn't work. Welcome to my world."

"Well excuse me for complaining, but it's kind of hard for me to function with no thumb on my left hand. I can't even button my pants, for God's sake."

"You've still got one more opposable thumb than I do. You think you've got it hard, try buttoning your pants with your teeth."

"You're a dog. Nobody expects you to wear pants."

"You know what I mean. However difficult your life is, mine is much harder. You can still work a doorknob, after all. I'm stuck in here all day, listening to squirrels and inferior dogs outside." She puts her head down and looks inconsolable.

"Yeah, fine, your life is very hard. I shouldn't complain so much. What can I do to cheer you up?"

"You could give me steak!"

"Ah, no."

"Bacon?"

"No."

"Rub the belly?"

"That, I can do..." She flops over, and I bend down to rub her belly with my one good hand.