Elegant wrists are a big disadvantage in life. Might just as well put a bangle on them and practice the beauty queen wave. Then when a person considers possible genetic origins of the elegant wrist, nothing really very good comes from the thought process. I'm back there in the cave, something like the Woolly Mammoth are running, and all the boys and girls are getting all excited at the prospect of some kind of meat product, and because I can't pick up my Mammoth womping rock, I'm off with the geriatrics to gather berries, or nuts, or leafy greens, or whatever.
It's always possible there was a tribe of elegant wrist people. We never
ventured much further north than the warmer parts of Europe. Southern Spain, I'd
like to think, because I can't believe we ever worked our way up through the
hell that is Mesopotamia. Nor can I believe we crossed the water in any kind of
boat, so there must have been a land bridge across the strait of Gibraltar, and
we did stuff like sitting on hills, avoiding sunlight, staring into the horizon
and giving each other endless theories about nothing in particular. The
golden days, I guess.