Brother, Can You Lend a Hand?

Kathy and I had a damn good dinner the other night at Bar Six in the West Village; I had a tender barbecued short rib, and she had a really tasty Mongolian chicken dish. Good stuff, but I have such posting inertia that a good meal isn’t enough to get me to write a blog post these days.

But this sign, found in the men’s room (and, apparently, the women’s room as well), is:

“Employees must wash all their hands before returning to work.”

Certainly a good sentiment, and a proper, hygienic practice. But: All their hands? There’s something about that phrasing that makes me think that someone on the staff has a little vestigial hand poking out of his belly, the last remnant of a twin he absorbed in the womb.

(Lifting up shirt to scrub tiny belly-hand.) “Sigh… this is such a pain…”

Gotta wash your babyfingers. It’s the law.

Rob