Hands are important to me

I am astonished at the variety of different types of hands there are on this planet.  Weird, right?  Well, looking back into my dating vault, I've rejected a couple of dates based on the size and shape of their hands and digits.

Shallow, much?

Well...yes.  But, how are you supposed to envision yourself being romantic with someone if the thought of their minuscule hands being on your body makes you want to vomit?  You can't.  It's impossible.  This may rank up there as being as ridiculous as the guy who detests public hair, it's one of my personal deal breakers.  You can't have chick hands, and you must have all of your fingers.  Period. 

So, it's interesting and funny in a non-haha way (at the time) that I have gone on dates with guys who have had chick hands, and didn't have all their fingers. 

A man's hands should be strong.  They should hold a firm hand shake.  They should be bigger than mine.  A callus or two certainly doesn't hurt in my book, but you know, please keep them from scraping the floor when you stand upright.  They should not be moisturized or manicured or any of that shit!

I went out with a dude that was incredibly good looking, in a very rugged way.  We met for dinner at a local pub, and it didn't matter that he was employed, smart and put together - his hands were the size of the guy in the BK Jr. Whopper commercial!  Not only were they tiny, but his fingernails were practically non-existent.  I almost thought that they were a transplant, but he was wearing short sleeves and had no scars to confirm otherwise.  (You bet your ass I checked.)  He had to pick up his half-sandwich panini with two hands.  Suddenly, his charm and wit were lost on me. 

Do these make you horny?

I met up with a guy for happy hour and 10 cent chicken wings.  Yes, it was a cheap date - but I'm not a gold digger that's all about the benjamins!  I was actually looking forward to being casual and messy and ultimately being silly in front of a guy when inevitable he'd tell me that I somehow had hot sauce smeared across my forehead.  (How does that happen?!  I use napkins!) 

We ordered a couple of beers and talked for a bit before our wings arrived, hot and fresh from the fryer.  I ate two before I saw this guy licking wing sauce off his HALF A THUMB!  Gross man.  Don't you think if you had half a thumb, you might prepare your date - either with a kick ass story about how it happened, or some kind of pre-meeting explanation?  I know I certainly wouldn't sit there licking it over and over, like it was some kind of baby penis you were giving head to.  Of course, the thumb licker was also a douchebag, so throwing $10 bucks on the table to cover my $4 bill was incredibly generous of me...when I decided to get the fucking hell out of there with an excuse of having to feed my dog. 

I hate that I now have to add "Take a look at your hands...do they belong on your arms?" as one of the pre-screening questions I have to ask potential suitors, along with "Are you married?" and "Do you have a criminal record?"