Huggers and shakers

For some obscure reason men in a business enviroment are under the misguided impression that women do not shake hands. While they are all too happy to grope our bottoms and other fiddly bits or cop a feel in a pub or club the threat of ‘sexual harassment’ makes us untouchable at work.

I recently stretched out my hand to greet a contractor only to have him look me blankly in the face as if to say:
“You women. Me no shake.”
“Its ok, I don’t bite!" I chirp him “... not unless you want me too” I want to add. He was a yummy male specimen but as with many good looking men, the attraction is completely lost about 30 seconds after they open there mouths. It soon became apparent that ‘Contractor Man’ had the IQ of a brick, making him drop significantly in status as thirtysomething alpha studmuffin. But I digress.

You can get a pretty good idea about people from their body language. How they hug or shake hands is a very good sign of inter-specie relations. From my extensive experience working in a male dominated environment, I can tell you that there are four primary types of ‘shakers’.

1. The bone crusher; an insecure male who has to make it clear from the outset that he is in charge. You might be the project manager but 'me alpha MAN you subservient WOMAN'.
2. The non-shaker; happy to stare at you breasts but will not touch you. A closet mysoginist who has probably had a case of sexual harrasment filed against him as some stage.
3. The limp handshaker. Frankly there is nothing worse than someone making you feel like a leper with scabies.
4. The enlightened male. Need I say more. Unfortunately only 0.001% of the male population fall into this category.

With the exception of handymen, I hug everyone who enters my home. Some handymen I want to hug and maybe even cop a feel but I exercise restraint. I am a hugger and unless you are my lover - I do not kiss on the lips. I have several friends who enjoy giving me a big smacker on the kisser and it totally freaks me out! Turning my cheek the last 100 times has not given them a clue either.

Now there are essentially 7 broad types of huggers:

1. The two feet apart patter-on-the-backer.
2. The full body contact groper – weird distant relatives and inebriated aquanitences usually.
3. The bone crushing bear hugger - those suffering from alpha male syndrome usually.
4. The warm fuzzy bunny hugger who is essentially a good hugger but holds on for a second to two longer than he or she should.
5. The dancing hugger – one who hugs you and sways you from side to side. Why do people do that? When combined with ‘warm fuzzy hugger’ its even worse.
6. The non hugger – one who despite all efforts simply thrust there hand out clearly indicating an infringement of personal space and some childhood trauma.
7. The just right hugger. Sadly here again only a very small percentage of the population fall into this category.

OK! I'll restrain myself now. Don’t even get me started on kissers!

It's family: no do-over required

Ever wish you could repaint the canvas of your life or at the very least take back a harsh word or a stupid act? I think about it a lot lately. Would I make the same choices if I have to do it over?

I try not to live a life with regrets but some things forever haunt me. Whiplash words that have scarred and stained. Enraged actions that have crushed delicate bonds. Deep set wounding that can’t be taken back, smoothed over and repaired.

A few years ago after my Mom’s memorial service I got into a fight with my brother. Some awful things were said. Long overdue things that needed to be aired. Very painful to hear and say but necessary, very necessary. Amidst tears and rage I swore I would never speak to him again. I banished him from my life and I meant it too. For a few months that is, until some persistent paternal intervention forced a reconciliation. The old guilt card was played. “He’s your only sibling! You need family! Our family is very small.” And so it went.

So here we are last weekend, watching the All Blacks crunch South Africa in the dying minutes, a picture of my mom looking down at us from on high. Just like old times. No apologies, no do overs, just my partner in unspeakable childhood capers. My buddy. My bro.