I’m not a hugger, y’all. I’m just not.
Well, unless I happen to be married to you. Then I’m going to hug you way more than you want to be hugged. Cause I’m all clingy and dependent like that. And because I like you. Deeply.
Or if I bore you from my womb and you’re still relatively cute and squishy, say, under school-age. I’m a sucker for cute and squishy.
But if you’re just a regular old family member or friend? Not so much. If you come at me with arms open I’m going to be very confused as to why you’re touching me. I didn’t procreate with you and I didn’t procreate you. Why are you touching me?!
I remember being this way even as an older child when cousins would run out to greet me with an emphatic hug at some holiday gathering. Why were they touching me?!
I’m quite sure that it has something to do with the fact that my own mother wasn’t affectionate towards me after I quit being cute and squishy.
Although, I am rather squishy these days. Just not so much with the cute…
All’s that to say : I’m reforming my non-huggy ways. I’ve determined to make an effort towards the touching of people not related to me. I have this theory brewing that it’s good for the soul, this showing of affection.
My mother-in-law was even telling me about something she read this year about how seniors and singles are touch-deprived and how important it is for humans to have other humans touch them.
So look out, y’all. I’m armed and ready. (Snicker)
And I just might touch you the next time I see you.