I wasn't exactly born with the hands of a piano player.
Instead, I was graced with the fingers that are short and pudgy -- kind of like, well, kind of like me.
This condition left me highly unlikely to ever be very adept at playing certain musical instruments or gripping a football or basketball.
Fortunately, I'm a journalist and my fingers aren't nearly as big of an impediment to my chosen career.
Except when they are.
In the course of my work at the Banner, you will occasionally hear me utter the phrase "I fat-fingered it." It can come up in one of two ways.
The first is in the (seemingly) simple task of getting in the door to work.
With five-digit push-button locks on two of the doors, remembering the combination isn't the only challenge to just getting in the building.
Sometimes I have to run through four or five attempts before I finally get the knob to turn. Stupid fingers.
A certain former sports editor used to think that's how we would some day get rid of him, just change the combination and not tell him. On days he fat-fingered the combination, he would start sweating before he finally made his way in the door.
The second example of fat fingers is much more obvious to the readership. I will occasionally make typos just because of the way these sausages drag along the keyboard.
Once with a former employer, I meant to type the word "its" for a photo caption. Unfortunately, I inexplicably added a "t" to the beginning of the word.
You can imagine the reaction we got at the office: Scandalized little old ladies calling and whatnot.
Another more glaring example that is often discussed around the office came when a different former sports editor's typo resulted in a prominent local athlete's last name being turned into a profanity.
While I will omit both the athlete's name and the mistake word, I will say that, in my mind, it made one of the most vulgar of vulgarities you can vulgarly vulgar. (I know vulgar is not a verb.)
I'm offended by the word and my standards are pretty low.
Today that error is the stuff of BG newsroom legend. It's the standard by which all others are judged, like Bill Russell's 11 rings.
Of course, not all of our typos are profane. Some don't make words and others are funny for reasons other than making dirty words.
Take this morning for example. I was typing up the small story about Putnam County postponing trick-or-treating. In the section describing Thursday's weather I meant to type, "Winds will be from the south at 15 to 25 mph with gusts up to 35 mph."
Only instead of "gusts" I typed "guys up to 35 mph."
That prompted an email from an old friend (the first sports editor mentioned above) pointing out the mistake and promptly channeling a bit of late-era disco.
It's raining men. Hallelujah, it's raining men!
At least it will be raining something besides water on Thursday because it certainly won't be raining candy.