I am totally pointing at you

So, I point. I'm a pointer.

I know it's not polite. I remember a babysitter of mine, when I was, oh five or six?--I remember contemplating her theory while "The Rainbow Connection" played on the radio, so it had to be around the time the Muppet Movie was released. That was 1979 so yes, five or six. I digress--telling me that when you point a finger at someone, you're actually pointing three fingers back at yourself.

Which I guess is true, although IMO is it's more then two fingers it's no longer really a point, but is instead a hand gesture.

But the thing is, I don't, like, point and curse at people. Or call them names. I just...point at them ("No, you're not mad at him, you're just pointing"--I'm full of pop culture references today, huh?). Like I might ask, "Did you go to the store?", which is a perfectly innocent question, but while I ask it my index finger just pops out, like the little red button on a turkey. Pop!

The hubs says I do it when I get excited (get your minds out of the gutter. He doesn't mean it that way.) Like when the conversation starts really moving and everyone is chattering. So I guess in that respect, one could view my pointing finger as either a discreet, pretty, silver-tipped hand being raised, or as a taloned wedge which I drive into the conversation.

A defensive gesture, perhaps? Or just a habit, and like any habit, hard to break?

I don't even notice I'm doing it. I have literally been pointing at someone--caught mid-point, as it were--and had the hubs tell me I'm pointing, and said, "No, I'm not," and looked down to see my own finger extended. And I didn't even realize it.

Clearly I have a problem.

How about you? What's your unconscious habit? How do you feel about it?

(Yeah, I know it's not much of a topic. Give me a break. I'm doing sex scene crits at my own blog all week, I'm waiting to hear back from my beta readers on the second Downside book [which I finished the first major edit on Saturday night], it's late, I'm tired, I'm trying to finish plotting the third Downside book in my head so I can start writing it in the next few weeks while anxiously awaiting edits on the first one, and it was either this or I blog about how incredibly freaking annoyed I am that my child's teachers think it's appropriate to tell fart jokes in class. Because that's the kind of humor I want my pretty little girl to think is perfectly acceptable. And I know at least a couple of people are going to jump all over me for that, because I know bodily function humor is adored by some people, I'm not one of them and I don't want my children learning that such things are acceptable in mixed company. Because it makes it a lot harder for me to tell my kids those jokes are offensive and not acceptable when their teachers do it. /rant.)

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