The Curse of a Lefty

I have a new desk. It was a generous gift from one of those so-called "friends of the family," and it's a nice looking desk. Heavy as hell, but nice overall. My problem is not with the desk per se but with my genetic makeup: I am left handed. As if obnoxiously taking up two seats at school so I could somewhat comfortably take notes wasn't enough, I now have to sit and do my important business (procrastinating, blogging, etc.) at a desk designed for right handed people. Why is that so bad? you may be wondering...well, it's a pain in the ass. I have lots of complaints about this life, but for the most part it's actually really nice. The semester at school was productive, I met some great people that I will, unfortunately, probably never see again unless by chance, got good grades, my dog is black as night, my bed is soft, my husband has a cute accent...life's cool. But when it comes to being a lefty, it is not all cool. The world hates the smarter, more creative, and just overall better minority, and takes it out on us by putting all the built-in drawers and bookshelves on the right sides of desks. So to get something I need from said drawers or shelves, I have to reach across myself, and, hence, knock over my Orange Fanta. Luckily my darling iBook escaped unscathed, as the Fanta spilled onto me instead, all the while thinking to itself, "the desk made me do it. I would never betray Bug in such a sticky manner. Desk, you fiend, leave her alone!" And the desk is thinking, "ha! That's just a taste (revelling in the cleverness of its pun) of what's to come! Lefties defile the good names of desks everywhere! A pox on all of your houses, a pox damn you, you muddy rascal, Lefty!" And I'm thinking what the hell kind of pox can a desk be talking about, leaf miters? Dry rot? Damn desk.