I’m a man with genetically (probably!) slim wrists and forearms. I say genetically, because my younger brother is one cut away from six packs and focuses on his forearms in particular, and he still has forearms that are only respectable and not impressive for his reference class. There have been somewhere between 10-20 times in my life that I’ve been unable to open a jar or container, and had to ask another, beefier man to do the honors (while swallowing the dishonor).
Like you, I have been slightly aggrieved about it. Oh well, all I can really say is that actual exercise keeps me out of the bottom half of the male distribution, and being very slightly embarrassed once a year or so is not the end of the world for me.
(I think jars should be easier to open. Women in my life have showed me a good trick: immerse them in hot water or just under a running tap. I’ve never needed to do that myself, but it seems like a band-aid patch that, like actual band-aids, does something.)
Good heavens. I’m not sure what I expected from that title, but it’s not a good day to have eyes or a functioning set of frontal lobes. The lady was clearly.… fond of her animal companion.
I’m always slightly exasperated when artists or critics deny what’s clear to the eye, but I’m not Georgia O’Keeffe:
https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2016/mar/01/georgia-okeeffe-show-at-tate-modern-to-challenge-outdated-views-of-artist
Instead, at best, I’m mildly aggrieved, and retreat to the comfortingly clear bosoms of rat-adjacent discourse. They’re doing interesting things with their epistemics, out there in the wild. I want little part of it.