Handshake - H

Handshake? Yes, seriously, handshake.

Growing up, with a few exceptions, my gender was never brought to my attention as a reason to be treated differently. And in some respects, I'm sure the issue was more protect a potentially vulnerable child because of my mom's own experience. Very clearly I remember my dad telling me that he wanted me to be able to take care of myself. He told me he wanted me to know how to change the oil or tire of a car but to afford not to have to do it. The expectation was to be educated so as not to be taken advantage of but also to propel myself forward in life.

But as I got older, my gender was presented to me as something that made me different. As a specific example, handshakes. See, I was taught, along with loads of other kids (or at least kids I went to school with) that in business or polite social settings, you offer a firm (hopefully dry) handshake. It would serve us well, making a good impression in everything from meeting your in-laws to job interviews.

You could tell a lot about a person by the way they shook hands, we were advised. And it's completely true. What I've learned about most people is this: they don't expect me, as a woman, to shake hands. Or at least not to do more than a limp fish impression, finger tips to finger tips with a quick retreat.

See? It's totally a thing. *shudders* An abominable, horrible thing.

I've been in situations with my husband, buying a car for example, where I'm the one taking the lead and the staff as a whole defer to my husband all the way down to only shaking his hand or looking to him for permission to deal with me. Seriously. If it weren't so infuriating, it would be funny. My husband in those moments wants nothing to do with any of it, sitting quietly scrolling through his phone and hoping I take care of everything to get us out of there as fast as possible.

I will give credit to the dealership we most recently purchased from. Once the sales manager took over from a very green, very old school shmoozy young salesman, he quickly realized who he needed to deal with. To this day when I'm there getting an oil change, he remembers me, says hello and shakes my hand.

In a firm, full on handshake. You know, despite my lack of testicles. It is striking how much that resonates with me.

See, when I get one of those limp, half- (or even quarter-) assed wet noodle handshakes, it activates something on a primal, reactionary anger level. It also grosses me out. I am similarly annoyed when I don't get a handshake at all when the man or men I'm with do. As a shy person, I should want to be left alone. And generally I prefer it. But in a situation where it's happening to everyone else, and then the 'shaker' gets to me, pumps the breaks and pulls back their hand? What is your damage?

Like, gag me with a spoon.

The theme of this post came from something that happened recently. I met a friend's parents. The mother didn't shake hands, with anybody, which I respected and even appreciated because I don't generally make the first move in social situations either. (I'm not a handshake maniac despite this entire post, just when the situations call for it.) The dad, former military and someone who works with his hands - the kind of person who commands respect just by his presence, he shook my hand just like he shook my husband's. Immediately, I appreciated the hell out of him.

So while handshake may be an odd choice for a topic, it beat the anxiety inducing thought of Hugging as a greeting. But that's a (strange) subject for another day.