Little Finger, Big Problem

He looked at his pinky and sighed. What was it doing there just hanging off the end like that? So small, skinny and separated from the rest. It really didn’t seem to belong.

The obsession had begun about three months ago and increased into full pinky overload. Everything revolved around it but yet there was no reason for its existence. What a dilemma.

It had happened one night over dinner. Nancy had demanded a romantic get together which Herbert felt defeated the point of romance when it was forced, but hey, who was he to say? Nancy was the 2nd real relationship he’d ever had. As Nancy prattled on about her day Herbert stared aimlessly around the restaurant. Couples littered the candle lit room, white linen and white china. Red roses were on every table. The setting couldn’t be more filled with love if Saint Valentine had thrown up on the place.

“Herbert, are you listening?”

“Mmmhmmm,” he mumbled.

“As I was saying, Doreen was telling me that her brother...”

Herbert took another sip of his chardonnay. He hated chardonnay but with each sip it became easier to drown out the monotony of Nancy’s voice. It was when he put his glass down that he noticed it, all pink, short and meekly thin, just laying there. At the edge of his left hand a finger that served no real purpose or interest…until now.

Why was it there? No one ever seemed to give two thoughts to the pinky. Why do we need it? Thumbs Herbert could understand. It allowed you to hold things, to shake hands, to create. The opposable thumbs were one of the biggest features of our evolution as humans. While it was small it had big responsibilities.

Even the ring finger served a purpose. Granted it was purely superficial; to show off something pretty. Maybe to represent a future with someone else. A future that the more he stared at his pinky finger would not involve Nancy.

And it was this dinner that was the beginning of the end of Herbert and Nancy’s relationship. Three weeks after that fated day of realization Nancy approached Herbert in his bedroom. There he was, as he had been almost every waking hour of everyday, staring at his pinky. Sitting on his bed with his hand on his knee he was mesmerized. It took Nancy three times of saying his name, shouting it the last time, for him to look up.

“Hmmm?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what anymore,” Herbert said touching his pinky on his left hand.

“This.” She waved her hand between the two of them. “I can’t be with you while you continue this absurd obsession.”

“Who has an obsession?”

“YOU, HERBERT! You do! All you talk about, all you seem to think about, all you even look at anymore is your god damn pinky finger.”

“Well, what’s the point of it?”

“Who gives a shit?! It’s there, live with it. Everyone seems to coping with this unknown just fine!”

“Yeah but it’s just…there.”

“Ooooo! Get help, psycho!”

With that Nancy stormed out of his apartment slamming the door so hard that the mirror next to it fell with a loud crash of breaking glass. Herbert barely even noticed for he had gone back to staring at his pinky.

Over the next couple of weeks Herbert talked to his friends about it. None of them understood and many of them used the term “insane”. After a while they too stopped coming around to see him. He was a man involved, involved in useless thoughts, according to everyone else.

He even tried talking to a shrink about his concerns. She seemed to understand, nodding often, asking questions. It seemed hopeful that he had finally found someone who understood. That is until she handed him a prescription for Phenobarbital on his way out.

“Just a little something to ease the discomfort,” she said with a wink. Herbert later found out that Phenobarbital is an anti-psychotic. But I’m not a psychotic, Herbert thought. I just don’t see the reason. As the months wore on and the weather got colder he began to think of ways to eliminate his problem.

It wasn’t until one particularly cold December night that he figured out a solution once and for all. He was sitting in his apartment, watching the news, though not truly watching of course. Suddenly his thoughts and the news were interrupted. The power in his building had gone out. Herbert sat stunned for a second then got up to the laborious task of lighting the various candles he had laying around. After 20 minutes his hands were cramped and cold.

Cold. Now there’s a thought. If I sit here long enough, with the extreme cold permeating my body…and the extremities are always the 1st to go numb in these scenarios… Get the pinky number and then…
An hour later and he felt frozen stiff. He had thought enough to put on a jacket but he left his left hand exposed of course. When he put it into the jacket he felt like he was pressing a block of ice to his chest. Perfect. Now to the task on hand.

He walked into the kitchen holding a candle stick. Where is it? Where is it? Ah ha! He grabbed the largest knife from the cutting block and placed his left hand on the counter by the sink. Easy clean up later. After this he’d get around to the other one.

With a huge grin and a sense of relief he raised his knife above his head over the unwanted finger and-

THWAP!