Burgers, Beer and Bear-Hugs (oh my)!

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that I was  having a bit of a personal dilemma. While attending a wedding of a good friend, I met up with several mutual friends of varying degrees of familiarity. Some were guys that I knew years ago and hadn't really spoken to since. Some were guys that I knew a while ago and still speak to occasionally. Some were guys up with whom we try to meet regularly and as often as possible, and still others were guys I'm sure I was supposed to know but couldn't recall why. My wife and I have an understanding in these situations: if I don't introduce her in the first three sentences after meeting someone, it means I don't remember their name and she need to introduce herself in hopes that they will do the same. I'd rather concede being slightly rude in not introducing my wife, then admit to not having a freakin scooby who I'm talking to. She's sometimes jumped in after two sentences, so I think she secretly will suffer the insult because she gets to introduce herself and roll her eyes dramatically...

So, over the course of the first few hours of this wedding, we went through the gauntlet of countless (re)introductions. Some were cordial, some were a bit more formal and some were enthusiastically familiar. But, as I saw and said hello to someone I know quite well, I was overtaken by formality. As this woman approached, looking radiant in her best wedding attire and smiling widely, I panicked and stuck out my hand for a handshake. This was a woman I have spent multiple holidays with. After what I did to her and her husband's toilet following a Czechoslovakian stag do, there can never be any pretense of refinement between us. Knowing this, she was forced to make the mid-air adjustment from hug to handshake and we both looked awkwardly at each other, commenting stiffly on how nice it was to see each other again. To make things worse, her husband followed immediately after and we embraced in a loud, macho, back-slapping, caveman-esque Man Hug.

And so it happened all night. Someone would approach. My mind would start racing... do I know you? How do I know you?  Are you a handshake or a hug? Have you ever seen my testicles (that doesn't eliminate as many people as you might think)? Now, it is entirely possible that I was over-thinking this a bit, and I knew it. But I couldn't help it, and it was exhausting. I was relieved and thirsty by the time the celebrations began in earnest.

So, on another social occasion this past weekend, I decided to eliminate the issue: everyone would just get a hug. Maybe it was the GBK Taxi Driver, maybe it was ice-cold San Miguel(s). But everyone was going to get hugged whether they liked it or not. Guy friends got them, girl friends got them, even gay friends of guy friends' girlfriends got them. Hug, hug hug. If they stuck out a paw for a stoic shake, I swatted it aside and went in for some huggage. If they looked scared as I approached, my arms held wide and wild eyes locked on theirs, I swooped in for some soul-affirming squeezosity. Many - if not all - of the men slapped my back, as if to beat the homoerotic connotations right out of the situation. But, if they did that, I pulled them closer, and hugged them harder. I hugged the shit out of people that day. No literally, that would be gross.

The fact is that I felt better for it. No more obsessing about whether I delivered the appropriate amount of familiarity, no more trying to tailor my greeting with a rather muddled recollection of levels of acquaintance. Everyone got the same: they got me. None of them gave me a Coke, but I'm sure they'll thank me later.