Don't Stand So Close To Me

It happened right as I placed a frigid hand on a packet of tortilla chips. They came at me from all sides. All with arms extended in sick exuberant expectance and a smile extending from one ear to China; half a dozen hands vying for my own weather-beaten paw. I felt like Little Red Riding Hood standing there in aisle number two while my six ghastly acquaintances advanced like a pack of wolves. None of them was disguised as my grandmother my mind astutely observed. I tried to distract myself from this approaching onslaught of pointless small talk but my mind soon turned to disturbing and oddly unrelated things; genocide, disembowelment, Bambi’s mother getting shot and Andie Macdowell. Moments later, I was in the thick of it. I expelled breath through my mouth audibly to indicate my disinterest but for that moment I was a light and they, moths. When it was over I felt abused. Now I only do my shopping after midnight.

I absolutely detest bumping into acquaintances in public. They’re the mongrels of human relationships. You don’t feel comfortable around them but you can’t ignore them either. But what’s this handshaking business? What kind of godforsaken mongoloid gets excited about shaking someone’s hand? Wouldn’t you rather shake an apple tree? Why would anyone be happy about shaking a hand when they’ve got two of their own? Whenever I’m subjected to more than two handshakes, my hands end up smelling like a medieval tavern. The worst thing about a handshake is that it’s like a pact you’re making with the person whose eager hands you’re reluctantly shaking. You’ve now committed yourself to a ten minute conversation about lawnmowers and ungodly weather, jackass!

Some days I wish I were invisible. That or one of those unobtrusive people who could stand in the middle of a crowd, hit themselves on the head repeatedly with a rubber ducky whilst singing “pour some sugar on me” and still nobody would notice. I will cut off my wrists before I come into contact with another appendage that’s attached to someone I barely know. I’m officially off handshakes. Come to think of it, now I know why Alanis Morissette has her hands in her pockets.