@aridScuttler I wrote you a play to reflect your plight. The Blessed Little Errand of Miss Wirehand A small shadow play for one yellowblood, two repairmen, and an unhelpful saint. [ðe screen lights. heheh. ] [Enter Miss Wirehand, whose arms hang at her sides with great dignity and no cooperation. honk. ] Miss Wirehand: Oh dear. My arms have taken leave of ðeir duties. [She attempts to wave. heheh. It results in waggling shoulders. honk. ] Miss Wirehand: Lazy ðings. honk. [Enter the First Repairman, carrying a box of screws. honk. ] First Repairman: Good news, miss. honk. Your arms are not broken. heheh. Miss Wirehand: Oh? First Repairman: They are on strike. honk. Miss Wirehand: That sounds worse. First Repairman: Only socially. [Enter the Second Repairman, carrying a very small hammer and a very large bill. honk. ] Second Repairman: We can fix them. honk. Miss Wirehand: Will it hurt? First Repairman: Possibly. honk. Second Repairman: Briefly. honk. First Repairman: Repeatedly. Second Repairman: But in a cheerful order. [Miss Wirehand considers ðis. heheh. Wishing she could put a hand on her hip.] Miss Wirehand: I would prefer my arms return to me with improved manners and perhaps we can negotiate a union. honk. Second Repairman: We can add that to the bill. honk. [From above descends ðe Saint of Useful Limbs, upside down. honk. Indigo through and true. honk. ] Saint: Children, children. heheh. Do not mourn a limb ðat needs repair. heheh. Mourn only the limb that refuses your generation benefits package. honk. Miss Wirehand: Is ðat comforting? Saint: No. heheh. It is official. honk. [ðe repairmen open Miss Wirehand’s arms like squeaky cupboards. honk. ] First Repairman: Aha. honk. Here is ðe trouble. Too much work. Second Repairman: Too much carrying. heheh. First Repairman: Too much reaching. Second Repairman: Too much being expected to function because one is attached. Miss Wirehand: ðat is very rude of everyone. heheh. Saint: A common design flaw in society. [ðe repairmen wind a little key. One arm rises halfway and points accusingly at ðe audience.] Miss Wirehand: Oh. honk. That one remembers. heheh. First Repairman: Of course. Arms remember everyðing. honk. Second Repairman: Every door held open. honk. First Repairman: Every wire touched. Second Repairman: Every thing carried that should have been put down sooner. [ðe arm drops.] Miss Wirehand: Is it dead? First Repairman: No. heheh. Second Repairman: Dramatic. honk. Saint: A healthy sign. honk. [They tighten one screw. The arm waves weakly.] Miss Wirehand: There you are. honk. [ðey tighten anoðer. honk. ðe other arm lifts and slaps ðe First Repairman. heheh. ] First Repairman: Excellent reflexes. honk. Miss Wirehand: I apologize. honk. Second Repairman: Do not. honk. It is good for him. [ðe Saint claps wið someone else’s hands. honk. His own too busy holding ðe reflective mirror of vanity. heheh. ] Saint: Behold. heheh. She is repaired. Miss Wirehand: Am I better? First Repairman: Not better. Second Repairman: Just where you were. First Repairman: Better comes later. heheh. Second Repairman: After rest, patience, and no nonsense with fresh hinges, ðese are expensive. heheh. Miss Wirehand: That sounds boring. heheh. Saint: Most survival is. [Miss Wirehand raises both arms. One hand waves. The oðer gives a rude gesture entirely on its own. heheh. ] Miss Wirehand: Oh. honk. Second Repairman: A little personality remains. honk. First Repairman: We never remove ðat. heheh. [ðe puppet bows.] Miss Wirehand: ðen I suppose I will live. Saint: A dreadful habit. Miss Wirehand: But mine. honk. [ðe lamp dims.] [The repaired arms wave after ðe rest of her has left.] End. honk.