Dating someone new can be a fun, exciting, and sometimes perplexing experience. While everyone brings their unique quirks and habits into a relationship, there’s something particularly strange yet fascinating about dating a right-handed man. You might not think much about hand dominance at first, but as time goes on, you start noticing small but undeniable patterns that make you go, “Wait… this is weird.”
Let’s dive into the funny, unexpected, and sometimes frustrating moments that happen when you’re in a relationship with a right-handed guy.
The Right Hand Takes Over Everything
The first thing you’ll notice when dating a right-handed man? Everything is done with his right hand. And we mean everything.
- Eating? Right hand.
- Texting? Right hand.
- Brushing his hair? Right hand.
- Holding your hand? Of course, right hand.
It’s almost as if his left hand doesn’t exist—unless he’s forced to use it. This can sometimes lead to hilarious struggles, like when he has to hold something heavy in his left hand or try using scissors designed for lefties.
And if you’re left-handed? Get ready for accidental elbow wars at the dinner table!
The “Right-Handed Dominance” in Everyday Life
Once you start noticing his right-hand bias, you can’t unsee it. Everything he does is slightly tilted in favor of the right side:
- Sitting position? He leans slightly to the right.
- Pocket placement? His phone, wallet, and keys are all in the right pocket.
- High-fives? Always with his right hand—never the left.
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Even when he gestures while talking, his right hand does all the work, while his left remains awkwardly hanging by his side. It’s a subtle but hilarious habit that you can’t ignore once you start seeing it.
Right-Handers and Their Love for “The Right Side”
Ever noticed that right-handed people naturally prefer the right side of things? A right-handed boyfriend will almost always:
✔ Pick the seat on the right side when given a choice.
✔ Turn right first when navigating through a store.
✔ Use his right foot first when stepping into a new place.
And if you ever switch things up—like sitting to his right instead of his left—he might hesitate for a second before adjusting. It’s a minor detail, but it reveals how deeply ingrained hand dominance is in everyday habits.
The Struggle with Sharing Space
If you’re a left-handed person dating a right-handed man, get ready for some unexpected frustrations.
- Eating next to each other? Your elbows will constantly bump.
- Cooking together? You’ll fight over which side of the counter you can use.
- Writing side by side? Get ready for an awkward “whose hand crosses over first” situation.
It’s like living in a mirrored world where one person always feels like they’re in the way. But over time, you both learn to adjust, and these little quirks actually become endearing parts of your relationship.
How a Right-Handed Man Holds You
Even the way he hugs and holds you can be influenced by his dominant hand!
- Hand-holding? He instinctively reaches for your left hand with his right.
- Hugging? His right arm naturally wraps around your shoulders.
- Carrying things for you? It’s almost always in his right hand.
And if he’s ever forced to use his left hand for something, he’ll grumble about how unnatural it feels—as if his left hand is just there for decoration.
Right-Handers in Competitive Games
Dating a right-handed gamer, athlete, or sports enthusiast? Get ready for some intense right-side dominance.
- Throwing a ball? Always with the right hand.
- Holding a racket? Right hand.
- Pressing buttons on a controller? Right fingers do all the work.
If you ever try to challenge him to switch hands, he’ll probably laugh it off—until he actually tries and realizes he’s completely useless with his left hand.
The Unintentional Right-Handed Bias in Driving
Here’s something weird you might notice when riding in a car with a right-handed man:
- His right hand is always the dominant one on the wheel.
- He adjusts the radio or air conditioning with his right hand.
- If he has to quickly react, his instinct is to turn to the right first.
Video : Scientists Explain Why Left-Handed People are Smarter than the Rest of us
And if he’s ever forced to steer with his left hand? He’ll complain about how weird it feels—even though both hands are technically the same.
The “Right-Handed Routine” in Daily Tasks
When living with a right-handed boyfriend, you’ll start seeing patterns in his daily habits that he doesn’t even notice.
- Putting on clothes? Always right arm first, then left.
- Tying shoes? Right shoe first, then left.
- Grabbing things? If he’s holding multiple items, he’ll naturally prioritize the right hand for important things.
It’s almost like his left side exists only for balance—but never for real work!
Final Thoughts: The Strange Yet Endearing Habits of a Right-Handed Man
Dating a right-handed man comes with a lot of subtle but hilarious observations. From his preference for right-side seating to his struggle with left-handed tasks, these quirks make you appreciate just how much hand dominance shapes everyday life.
While it might seem strange at first, these habits eventually become endearing parts of your relationship—little things that make you smile every time you notice them.
So, if you’re dating a right-handed man, pay attention to the small details—you might start seeing patterns you never noticed before! ❤️
Have you ever noticed these quirks in a right-handed partner? Share your experiences in the comments! 😊
Grumpy Loner Finds a Teen Trying to Jack His Car and It Ends Up Changing Both Their Lives — Story of the Day
All old Harold cared about in his remaining years were his car and his privacy, but both now seemed at risk after new Asian neighbors moved in. One night, he caught a teenage boy trying to open his car, and from that moment, his solitary life changed forever.
Harold sat on his creaky porch, the paint peeling from the wooden railing, his scowl as deep as the furrows in his weathered face.
The late afternoon sun glared down, reflecting off the hood of his 1970 Plymouth Barracuda, making its cherry-red paint glow like embers.
The car had been his pride and joy for decades, a tangible reminder of his younger, more vibrant days.
But today, Harold wasn’t basking in nostalgia. His gaze was fixed on the commotion across the street.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
His new neighbors—a bustling Asian family—were unloading boxes from a moving truck.
Kids dashed around the driveway, shrieking and laughing, while a dog yapped incessantly.
A grandmother in a wide-brimmed hat waved instructions in a language Harold didn’t understand.
“Can’t they do anything quietly?” Harold muttered, his words a growl as he took a bitter sip of his lukewarm coffee.
Needing an escape, Harold pushed himself up from the chair, wincing as his stiff knees protested.
He shuffled toward his garage, muttering under his breath about the state of the world. Starting the Barracuda, he reversed it onto the driveway with a low, throaty rumble.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
He knew the engine’s growl was loud enough to turn heads, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
As he began unwinding the hose to wash his car, a voice called out, breaking his solitude.
“Wow! Is that a ‘70 Barracuda?”
Harold turned, startled to see a skinny teenage boy standing near the curb.
The boy’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his face was lit with the kind of awe Harold hadn’t seen in years.
“Yeah, it is,” Harold said curtly, already regretting engaging.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Does it have the 440 engine? A Six Pack?” the boy asked, stepping closer, his excitement bubbling over. “How’d you keep it in such good shape? I mean, it’s pristine!”
Harold grunted, turning his attention back to the car.
“It’s just maintenance,” he said flatly, hoping the boy would take the hint and leave.
But the boy, introducing himself as Ben, didn’t. He kept firing questions, his enthusiasm unrelenting.
He asked about the car’s history, its restoration, and its performance. Harold’s responses grew shorter, his patience wearing thinner with each passing second.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Kid, don’t you have something better to do?” Harold snapped, narrowing his eyes at the boy.
Ben hesitated, his smile fading slightly.
“I just really love classic cars,” he said softly. “My dad used to—”
“Enough!” Harold barked, turning to face him fully. “Go home and leave me alone!”
Ben’s shoulders slumped, and he muttered, “Sorry, sir,” before shuffling away.
Harold shook his head and turned back to his car, scrubbing harder than necessary.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
But as much as he tried, he couldn’t quite shake the image of the boy’s hopeful face. It lingered like a faint echo, reminding him of something he couldn’t quite name.
Harold was jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of clanging metal. It wasn’t subtle—it was the kind of noise that didn’t belong in the stillness of the night.
His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he lay there, listening.
Then, with a groan, he reached for the baseball bat leaning against his nightstand.
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His heart pounded as he slipped on his slippers and shuffled toward the garage, the cold night air prickling his skin.
He paused at the garage door, holding his breath as he heard muffled voices and the distinct rustling of tools. Gritting his teeth, Harold flipped on the light.
“Hey! Get outta here!” he roared, his voice slicing through the chaos.
Three teenage boys froze like deer caught in headlights.
One was hunched over the steering wheel of his prized Barracuda, while another rifled through his neatly organized tools.
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The third stood near the hood, his face partially obscured by the shadow of his hoodie.
The two boys closest to the car bolted without a word, vanishing into the darkness. Harold barely noticed.
His eyes locked onto the third boy, who had slipped on an oil patch and fallen hard onto the concrete floor.
“Not so fast,” Harold growled, marching over and grabbing the boy’s arm. He hauled him to his feet, and the boy’s hood fell back, revealing a familiar face.
“Ben?” Harold’s voice was incredulous and angry all at once.
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“Please, sir,” Ben stammered, his face pale and his hands shaking. “I didn’t mean to—I was—”
“Save it,” Harold snapped, his grip firm. “You’re coming with me.”
Still clutching Ben’s arm, Harold marched him across the street and banged loudly on the door of the boy’s house.
After a moment, the door creaked open, and Ben’s parents appeared, their faces groggy and confused.
“They don’t speak much English,” Ben mumbled, his eyes glued to the floor.
“Then you’re going to tell them exactly what you did,” Harold said, his voice cold and commanding.
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Ben hesitated, then began translating, his voice trembling as he explained what had happened.
His parents’ faces fell, their expressions a mix of shame and dismay.
Bowing repeatedly, they murmured apologetic phrases in their native language, their gestures sincere.
Harold let go of Ben, pointing a finger at the boy. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to call the cops. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Ben murmured, his head bowed low.
Harold turned and stomped back to his house, his adrenaline slowly fading. He collapsed into his armchair, staring at the car keys he had left on the table.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The image of Ben’s pale, terrified face lingered in his mind, unsettling him. Somehow, his anger didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have.
The next morning, Harold was startled from his coffee by the sound of clinking metal on his porch.
Grumbling, he got up and opened the door to a surprising sight: Ben’s grandmother and mother, both balancing trays of steaming food, carefully arranging them on the steps.
“What’s all this?” Harold asked, his tone sharp.
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“Listen, I don’t need—what’s all this for?”
The women looked up at him nervously, bowing their heads slightly. Their smiles were polite but hesitant, and they didn’t say a word.
Harold waved his hands awkwardly, trying to shoo them away.
“It’s fine. You don’t need to do this,” he sputtered.
They continued their work undeterred, gesturing to the trays with small, encouraging nods. Harold sighed, stepping aside and muttering under his breath, “No one listens anymore.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
As they finished and disappeared back across the street, Ben appeared, shuffling up to the porch with his head low.
His face was flushed, and he avoided Harold’s gaze. Suddenly, he knelt down, bowing deeply.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”
Harold crossed his arms, his scowl deepening, but his voice lacked its usual edge. “Kid, get up. You don’t have to do this.”
Ben didn’t move. “Please,” he insisted. “Let me fix this.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Harold sighed heavily. “Fine. Wash the car. And don’t scratch it.”
As Harold returned inside, he eyed the trays of food warily before sitting down to pick at the unfamiliar dishes.
Through the window, he watched Ben working diligently on the Barracuda, the boy’s careful movements a stark contrast to the chaos of the night before.
After some time, Harold stepped back outside. “You did a decent job,” he admitted gruffly. “For a guy who tried to get into it last night.”
“Thanks,” Ben replied, drying his hands on a rag. He hesitated before speaking again.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“The truth is… those guys made me do it. They said I’d be a coward if I didn’t help. They knew I know a lot about cars.”
Harold frowned. “Why didn’t you tell your parents that?”
Ben shrugged, looking down.
“It’s hard enough being new here. If I snitched, people would make fun of my sister. She’s finally starting to fit in.”
Harold studied him, his face softening.
“You’re a good kid, Ben. You just have bad taste in friends.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Ben nodded, finishing the job. As Harold watched him clean up, he surprised himself by saying, “Come on in. Let’s eat before all this food gets cold.”
Ben’s eyes widened slightly, but he smiled. “Thanks, sir.”
Harold waved him inside, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
That evening, he sat in his recliner, a cup of tea cooling on the side table. The soft hum of crickets filled the air, but a commotion outside drew his attention.
He leaned toward the window, pulling the curtain aside, and his sharp eyes spotted Ben down the street.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The boy was backed against a fence by the same two teens who had fled Harold’s garage that night.
Harold squinted, his knuckles tightening on the curtain. The taller of the two boys jabbed a finger at Ben, his voice carrying through the quiet.
“We’re not taking the fall for this! You better fix it.”
Ben’s shoulders slumped as he hesitated, then reluctantly handed over a set of keys. He pointed toward Harold’s garage, his expression filled with shame.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The two teens grinned, their laughter cutting through the stillness as they swaggered toward the garage.
Harold’s lips pressed into a thin line as he grabbed his jacket and headed outside.
Staying hidden in the shadows, he waited until the boys disappeared inside his garage.
Then, with a deliberate stride, he approached the building, flanked by a police officer he’d called earlier.
“Evening, boys,” Harold said coolly, flipping on the garage lights.
The two teens froze, their grins vanishing as the officer stepped forward. “Hands where I can see them,” the officer commanded.
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The boys stammered, their bravado crumbling as they were cuffed and led toward the patrol car.
Ben stood nearby, watching the scene with a conflicted expression. Harold approached him, his voice steady but firm.
“You did the right thing, kid,” he said. “Criminals need to learn their lessons early. Better they fix their lives now than ruin them later.”
Ben nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. “I wasn’t sure if…” He trailed off, searching Harold’s face.
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Harold patted Ben’s shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I could use someone like you to help me with the car. You interested?”
Ben’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t let it go to your head,” Harold said with a smirk.
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“And maybe, if you prove yourself, this car could be yours one day.”
Ben’s grin spread wide, and for the first time in years, Harold felt a flicker of pride he thought he’d never feel again.
Together, they walked back to the house, the night quieter than it had been in years.
Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
If you enjoyed this story, read this one: “Perfect neighbor”—that was Julia’s dream title. She wanted to be a role model for other women in the community. Imagine her face when she saw her mother ride a Harley-Davidson into the driveway. Pure embarrassment nearly drove Julia to the point of kicking her mother out, but the truth stopped her.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
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