That has not been my experience.
Having a left-handed mom who herself was born to a right-hander drove predictable outcomes. Grandma was unable to pass on her considerable skills in sewing and knitting to my mother; in turn Mom was unable to pass her own skills to me. To this day I tie my bows upside down. Small children smirk.
Even allowing for the well-known fact that lefties are over-represented in the arts, an inordinately large number of good friends - especially other painters - are left-handed too, .
Leaving aside the issue of friends, what were my statistical odds of going on to marry a left-handed man? One hundred to one, actually [one-tenth multiplied by one-tenth])! Of course by then I had accumulated a repetoire of accommodations such as automatically sitting to the right so as to avoid elbow competitions, but once again the household leftie demonstrated skills that I could only dream of. In this painting you will notice with which hand Jon is effortless casting.
Although I have tried to advance the argument that my beloved was dropped on his head as a baby, in my heart I am consumed with envy. Lefties can boast ambidextrous manoeuvres — whether doing simultaneous two-handed mirror writing on a blackboard or just switching hands "whenever". Righties are so jealous that we turned words like “sinister” (“left” in Latin) and “gauche” (“Left” in French) into insults!
Having only one working hand really worries me. When my dismount from a recent caterpillar hunt was less than adroit (Maple tree - 1; Z’Anne - 0), my first thought was “Did I break my good hand?”
Note to Self: Always try to land on your useless hand, Lady Klutz. Better still, aim for your head and hope for the best. Right? (Should that be "Left?")