in a custard pie fight with a hand that has a mind of it's own. 
i'm not sure how this started but it involved micro surgery and a hand transplant. the doctor was an older man using an experimental technique from south korea. it involved a hi tech laser operating bench which the doctor has set up in a rented warehouse in east sydney. 
my hand had been severed in a fight with two samurai warriors who had attempted to abduct my wife. i'm not sure why they set her sights upon her but her espionage background would have had a certain influence. we are used to these kinds of occurrences and have so far had intercepted several attempts, most of which i foiled. in the early days i ended up with several wounds but this would be the first in over a year where i'd actually required surgery.
a few hours after reattachment the hand began to show signs of independence and sentience. 
it began by directing a fork into my eye. although this sounds quite violent i managed to seize it with my other hand before damage was done. the transplanted hand being weaker dropped the fork onto my plate of eggs and slapped me around the face a few times.
witnesses say it moved fast and was completely ruthless. 
the dining area was attached to the kitchen area, where several of the chiefs looked on in horror. most of the waiters stared in shock and other diners silenced by the display of self-injury.
thinking fast i grabbed the table cloth and pulled it free, immediately wrapping it around my rouge fist.
'this should do the trick,' i said aloud to my audience. i paid the bill and left, somewhat embarrassed but alive.
there was no doubt of the hands murderous intent, and i knew there was only one solution, which was to return to the surgeon and have it replaced.
on the way the hand attempted to steer the wheel of my car into an oncoming truck, it also attempted to put on the handbrake, but being the right hand i had time to intervene as it made it's reach for the lever.
i pulled up outside the warehouse and ran inside holding the tablecloth wrapped hand down as it struggled to regain freedom.
the doctors injected it with a tranquilizer and although the hand managed to get in one punch, a fierce uppercut right under my chin the doctors intervened and carried out the procedure with the hand of a famous designer. her hand was smaller but similar in structure and shape, and it had skill and beauty my original lacked with none of the self-loathing and projection the first replacement displayed. it was easy to love the new hand, often i would find myself stroking it affectionately and exploring myself with it. eventually, my wife left in jealous envy of my affection and peace descended, no more espionage or drama to suck me in. 
my plan was to locate the rest of the body that the hand was taken from and rebuild it, a jigsaw puzzle, part frankenstein, part artistic pursuit of beauty, and despite the painful month ahead while we rebuilt, it was all leading somewhere. over the course of weeks the body took shape, and the result was astounding, the more if neared completion the more affectionate and nurturing the hand became, displaying and demonstrating, love as it must be. i began to understand that all the drama, all the espionage and sabotage had to occur for us to build this magnificent happy ending.