Awkward Hug

     If I had to describe me, conventional would not be a word I would use. Traditional, perhaps, but never conventional. It's hard to be conventional when you come from my background. (By conventional, I mean, cookie cutter house wife. Not, I have a secret room of creepy stuff.) You model your social interactions after the footsteps your parents left. If I were to use that blue print, I would be saying penis in group settings daily (my mother), and moving through rooms like a ghost (my father). I have gently grazed over the surface of my relationship with my mother, and today I will give you a few samples of the social awkwardness at my house.  I have had to teach myself to hug, and to stop my own ears from bleeding from unacceptable mother daughter conversations. Today, I will tell you about them.

      First, I must paint the proper picture of Claudia. Claudia, is 5'4 and in her late 60's. She is obsessed with physical fitness and you can usually catch her in some form of velour track pants, or adidas warm ups. She is always wearing running shoes. When she is talking to you or presenting you with an item she will cup her hands together and smile at you. That is irrelevant but it just plain pisses me off. No real reason, just an annoying trait. She has a very short hair cut, and refuses to use any sort of hair product so it always looks like wild animals styled her hair. She identifies more strongly with dogs than humans. Not sure why. Claudia also has the MOST AMAZING way of complementing you and tearing you down a peg or two at the same time. "Your hair is such a pretty color these days, it really hides how dead it seems to be." She is passive aggressive at its best.

       Example #1: All kids learn to hug from their parents. My mother had an overwhelming fear of child predators. I  am sure of it. She would constantly warn my sister and myself about the dangers of our friends Dad's. Like they were giving us 3 Muskaroofies before bedtime or something. I get that she needed to protect us, but she was certainly a bit over the top. She obviously taught us the basics of hugging. I am forever scarred. Even when we were to hug our own father or grandfather, we were to turn our chests and torsos away from said predator. Then, use one arm to hug while simultaneously con-caving your back into the most awkward question mark your body could form. This was, obviously, to keep our breasts from touching another human beings, especially every male that would then try to kill us in our sleep. Now, Chad and I have friends over all the time. It is socially acceptable and somewhat expected to hug at the end of a nice evening gathering as a goodbye. I DREAD THIS PART. I dread having to make a question mark out of my back, and I dread having to use one dead arm awkwardly. Why couldn't a handshake and a pat on the ass out the door be acceptable? If you eat at my house, expect that instead. Good food, good convo, and an "atta boy!" on the way out the door.