I’m an awkward hugger. I mean THE most awkward hugger in the world. When we decide we’re going to hug, you and I, dear reader, (after clammy-hand inducing deliberation) we have to decide how we’re going to dock.
Yeah, dock. You know? Are you an over-er or an under-er? Myself, I’m usually a curveball: the one-up-one-down approach. Come to think of it, that might be one of the issues…
If you want to hug me, it might be best to send me a calendar alert so I can mentally prepare myself. Seriously. My friends make a point of hugging me at every opportunity, to laugh at me. They SAY they’re trying to fix me, sure, but what if my hugging aversion can’t be fixed? What if it’s like sexuality, or my opinion of Marmite? Maybe it’s just a part of me.
See, I don’t do physical contact well. There’s no creepy underlying reason for it; I was hugged as a child, and cared for, not locked in a cellar by a cackling mad Aunt. And no one in my family seems to suffer from it, whatever it is. It’s one of those precious, unique things my DNA has decided to bequeath to me. Some people get juggling, or singing.
But Introverted!Girl? She gets the Awkward Hugger of the Year Award.