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A
Touchy Subject
by John Gosselink
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Alfred. E.
Newmanlink |
My
aversion to hugging has been well documented, if not somewhat misinterpreted.
While it is true that in 1982, I misunderstood Nancy Reagan’s public service commercial
and spent the entire decade just saying no to hugs, I’m not an anti-hugging zealot.
It’s more of an anti-hugging leaning. Though its genesis was an unintentional
mishearing, it turned out to be a good philosophy for me.
Did I take it
too far? Maybe. Probably getting “Just say no to hugs” tattooed in gothic letters
across my shoulders was a mistake. But I was trying to impress the guys in a prison
drug gang – they’re not much into hugging either – another pursuit that, in retrospect,
I somewhat question the judgement in. But that was years ago.
But folks
have gotten the impression that I’m some sort of cold, freakish germophobe afraid
of human contact. That’s just not the case. Shoot, if I don’t get my daily recommend
allowance of half dozen or so hugs from my girls, I’m off a bit. And the wife,
I’m hugging her all the time, sometimes for no apparent reason, though it does
make her suspicious. Family reunions, I’m all over the obligatory arriving and
departing hugs. Not to mention that my favorite character on “Starsky and Hutch”
was Huggy Bear.
I’m just not a social or recreational hugger. The way
I figure it, if folks don’t share blood or name, there’s really no reason to be
touching each other. So I’m not comfortable with the greeting hug, especially
the “Do you remember me? It’s been a long time” greeting hug.
I’ve
been fretting about this lately because I’ve gotten an invitation to my high school’s
20th reunion. Having never been to a reunion, the wife informs me that they should
rename these things hugathons because that pretty much all you do for three days.
Then she gets all giggly just imagining how uncomfortable I’m going to be at this
thing. That’s the kind of support I get around here – giggling at my serious problems,
and eye-rolling, lots of eye-rolling.
The few folks I want to keep in
touch with from high school, I do already, and I’m not hugging them presently.
So when I get to the reunion, all of these women who either a) I don’t remember
b) don’t remember me c) turned me down when I asked them out d) laughed and pointed
when I ask them out, are going to be coming up for hugs. I don’t want to hug any
of these people.
I just want to blow the thing off, but the wife says
I have to go to see how fat and bald everyone has gotten, and how the prom queen
and quarterback didn’t have the charmed lives everyone figured, who are now divorced,
broke and bitter. Why? There are plenty of fat and bald people around here, see
them all the time, so why drive into Houston for that? And as far as feeling superior
to the yearbook stars, that just seems kind of sad and vindictive. Sure, maybe
the prom queen was one of those girls who laughed and pointed at me, but I’m pretty
much over it now. I’ve been laughed and pointed at by much more attractive people
since.
If I have to go this thing, I’ve got to have a plan. I thought about
going with the leprosy ploy – “I’d give you a hug, but the doctors at the island
colony said that I’m especially infectious right now and should refrain from human
contact. Though, it would be nice to have company on the island, ha-ha,” but that’s
so old and hackneyed. I’ve probably used it half a dozen times just at potluck
dinners alone.
I thought about the direct approach, anyone comes in for
a hug, shouting “Don’t touch me or I’ll scream,” but I’d hate to disappoint all
those girls who wrote “stay sweet” in my yearbook. Screaming at people is, by
definition, not staying sweet.
Then I came up with the “unrelenting handshake
option.” I’d just stand around, happily wearing my “Hello, my name is..” nametag
with yearbook photo attached to accentuate how much weight I’ve gained and hair
I’ve lost, with my arm constantly cocked in hand shaking position. I’ll take the
social guessing out of it. There would be no awkward moment for those folks of
discretion to decide if hug or handshake is appropriate, no opportunity for unconscionable
huggers to come flying in without getting poked in the ribs from my outstretched
arm, and a sigh of relief and easy approach for my fellow non-huggers. I’m almost
breathless from the perfection of this plan.
If this works the way I think
it will, I may get a brace or sling and keep my arm up all the time. As an added
bonus, just think how much easier it will be to give directions. “North street?
Why it’s just (swiveling my hips) over there.” Genius, I tell you, pure genius.
Let’s see the wife roll her eyes at this idea. | | |
