The curse of the monkey-arms

PIC OF NEANDERTHAL HAIRY MAN HERE!
Meet Brian: the kind of neanderthal man who would, a long time later, eventually evolve into the blueprint for the modern secondary school Science teacher through just a couple of steps

My granddad does it, my dad definitely does it — sorry, Dad — and, based on what small amount of information I have been able to covertly mine from assorted family and photo albums, I’d hazard a guess that every single male in the Pink family ever has walked with monkey-arms.

That’s right: the arms hanging limp…the palms facing not inwards towards the body — as is the norm with modern humans other people are lucky enough to be related to — but the direction walked away from…

Evolution is amazing, though, isn’t it? Forget the science and the religion — it just blows my mind. However it happened, whatever force created it, is irrelevant to where we are now (or at least to this blog post; don’t bother emailing me to start an angry evolutionary debate unless it’s a good one, please people!). The fact that we are here at all, right now, going about our business and pretending to rule the world, is stupendous.

Now, you’d think that after hundreds, if not thousands of years, the monkey-arms would have slowly become obselete. Faded away. But no, people. In my family and maybe yours too, this is one stubborn evolutionary character trait that simply refuses to die.

For years I’ve been fighting the monkey-arms-thing on a deeply personal level, trying to integrate with the rest of society so that if I ever have off-spring they will not be cursed with the same fate as me, and tragically it would seem that the whole 30 years of war have been a feutile battle…

Becaue today, while walking past a particularly reflective enormous shop window and making the mistake of glancing in it, I saw that despite countless conditioning sessions — whenever I walk around I try and fight the monkey-arms and train my skeleton into accepting a new way of being — I am still, essentially, cursed more than ever.

That’s right: all that conditioning did nothing. In fact, I may have even gone backwards.

And the worst thing is that I have a beard, which only adds to the neanderthal image…

It’s a good job I’m self employed and hate looking at mirrors.

And, if you were wondering, I would shave it off, but I also have a larger-than-average nose.

One thing’s for sure: I think I’d rather have a beak and a beard than look like a twelve-year-old going to a fancy-dress party.

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