A December Story

Last Saturday, I went to church with my mom. In the middle of mass, she took my right hand and rubbed my pointer finger up and down.

"Your finger got better," she whispered, continuing to rub it. "It was in rough shape for a long time, but it feels a lot smoother now. At least you're not biting it anymore."

I just nodded and smiled.

I didn't have the heart to tell her she was holding the wrong hand. 

It is in fact my left pointer finger (the top knuckle of it specifically) that I bite all the time without realizing it. I stopped nibbling the lower part of it years ago, so it looks a lot better than it used to. Still, it's in rough shape from decades of my nervous habit. 

Christmas day with Mom is going to be awkward if she spots it and realizes her error (and my lie by omission). Thankfully, I am right-handed and can hide my left until we're done eating.