The Way to a Man's Hands...

I am obsessed with Law & Order. I have been for the better part of my life, way back in the Paul Sorvino days, and well before anyone called Chris Noth “Big.” While the cheese factor of Ice T’s tough guy lines in SVU will always have a special place in my heart, my absolute favorite episodes are in the original series of the franchise, back in the Briscoe/Curtis or Briscoe/Green detective years. Maybe my love of the series boils down to my love of Lenny Briscoe. I have seen the episode where he relapses and Clare gets killed in the car accident dozens of times, but I still cry when he gets out of the car and realizes…

Briscoe was the epitome of the old school detective. He could take the Ice T line and make it believable. Find a socialite’s body in a cooler? Here comes Lenny with something like, “I thought they only liked their martinis on ice.”

There is something about that type of old school guy that appeals to me. Always has, whether it was Han Solo or Magnum P.I., I liked that take charge kind of guy and even more so, the type of guy who wasn’t afraid to get dirty.

My dad worked at a grain elevator and I remember him coming home covered in dust. And even though he wore a facemask to protect his lungs, I remember my childhood fascination at the weird dusty snot rockets he could blow. And I knew my dad was the coolest guy in the universe.

It’s safe to say I was never going to be with a guy who stamped loan papers for a living.

So I really had a chuckle when one of my friends on The Book posted a question as to why women find the blue collar working man attractive. Of course, the bait of “His paycheck” was thrown out, both seriously and in jest.

Man Friend qualifies as one of those blue collar guys since he’s a carpenter. He’s a workerman with the tools and the giant truck. I don’t date freeloaders anymore, so I appreciate the fact that he gets a paycheck, but the paycheck isn’t what I find attractive. I like his workerman hands. They’re all roughed up and calloused, full of little nicks and scars from years saws and drills, telling the stories of all the things he’s made along the way. Holding his hand is like holding a book filled with tables and dressers and cabinets.

I suppose everyone’s hands tell a story like that. I remember how soft the pads on Joey’s paws were the first night she came to live with us. I laugh when I think of her hop stepping the first time she felt snow. The miles have toughened her up. It might sound dorky, but I do hold their paws sometimes when we’re cuddled up on the couch. It doesn’t seem so dorky ‘cuz they let me.