Lily Soif Palms

Over the years, like many people, I have been guilty of favouring my right hand over my left. It is a sad fact of reality. . .I am a hand bigot. I see my right hand going where no hand has gone before and I am impressed I believe in my right hand. It, has picked stuff up for me fondled all that I have wanted fondling cupped the sweet faces of my offspring and spanked the dominatrix. . .sorry ignore that.
When I have needed a hand it has been there for me flipping on the light switches of life guiding the decrepit and crippled across the road whether they would go or not. That self same hand has snatched spiders from walls and plunged them to watery deaths not to mention guiding sensitive fingers through gorgeous red hair. The right hand is my friend.
But then what of the left? those days when the right is too tired to even get up or has worked its little fingers to the bone the left has been there to stalwartly pick up the pieces. Awkwardly yes, perhaps even confusedly so, but it has leapt into the fray and bravely attempted to compensate.
Should I give the left hand a trial run? or just pin a tiny medal to its lily soft palm?