I’m a little too proud of the grimy fingers I earn while doing man things. Cleaning guns. Making fire. You know.

Well yesterday, after working on the motorbike and having some significant wins, I came in from the garage to check in with Allison and let her know of the progress I had made (read: seeking validation).

Whilst making known the extent of my victories and overall motorbike-wrench-monkey prowess, I noticed that she was at her art desk working on her calligraphy. Genuine pen and ink. I love this about her. So I stopped talking about myself and noticed her work.

Then I noticed her fingers. They were black from the ink.

The more macho among you may cringe a bit, but my face brightened as I processed how appropriately blackened our fingers had become, and the reasons they had become so for each of us. Greazy motorbike grime, on the one hand, and classy stains of Sumi ink on the (literal) other. We make a good team.

I thought it might be a good photo. Life imitating something. You get the idea.







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