Lately, I’ve been wondering why my little finger is called a pinky. The name makes it sound less like a body part and more like a hyperactive lab mouse whose sole mission is to sabotage a genius mouse’s elaborate schemes for world domination. And honestly, at this point, I can’t help but feel for Brain. The poor guy comes up with these grand, world-changing plans, only for Pinky to lose his marbles—literally and figuratively—like that one piece in Mouse Trap that always sets off the trap at the wrong time. Maybe it’s time Brain rethinks his approach. Go through official channels, run a campaign, kiss a few babies. I’d vote for Brain—he’d bring some much-needed structure to this rat race. Plus, I’m sure he’d mandate cheese Fridays, and who wouldn’t want that?
But back to the pinky. It also sounds like that one ghost in Pac-Man who’s always ruining your vibe. I’ve lost track of how many lives Pinky and her spectral crew have cost me, and I think we can all agree that being chased through an endless neon maze for a handful of cherries is not the mental health break it once was. At this point, Pac-Man probably needs therapy more than a power pellet.
Then there’s Pinky, the leather-jacketed biker chick who cruised around in the ’50s with her gang, the Pinkettes. I mean, she had The Fonz—The Fonz!—so smitten he almost proposed. She had him wrapped around her little finger… you know, the pinky.
All this has got me thinking: why stop at naming just one finger? If we’re giving our fingers colorful names, why not paint the whole picture? After all, the pinky’s not the only one that deserves a splash of personality. And hey, wouldn’t naming your fingers make fingerpainting a little more literal? Take the index finger, for example. We could call it Bluey, because who doesn’t love that wholesome little cartoon dog? Although I can’t quite put my finger on why the show makes me want to sob and laugh simultaneously.
The ring finger? Obviously Goldie, because that’s where people wear their gold wedding bands. And just like Goldilocks, it’s all about finding the perfect fit—because nothing says “happily ever after” like a ring that’s not too tight, not too loose, but just right.
And the middle finger? Let’s call it Rosie—because wouldn’t the world be a much rosier place if no one ever used that finger for “expressive purposes”?
This train of thought naturally led me to my toes. They deserve names too, but I’m not about to go full “Lord of the Toes” here. If I did, though, they’d probably all be called Piggy, because let’s face it: “This little piggy” has been branding them since day one.
So, yeah, my pinky has sent me spiraling into a full existential crisis about why we haven’t renamed all our extremities. But I’ll just leave you with this: the next time someone says, “I pinky swear,” remember that somewhere out there, a little mouse is plotting world domination, and we’re all just along for the ride.