I have never been the touchy feely type, that is just not who I am.
I can blame the fact that my parents were divorced when I was very young and I did not grow up in an affectionate home, I can…but I won’t.
Fact is, most social situations make me uncomfortable. I never quite know how to handle them. When meeting up, do I air-kiss or hug? How tight should the hug be? How long should I maintain the hug? When I am supposed to kiss? Is it an air-kiss or do I kiss on the cheek? Does one follow the same guidelines as with dates? (After 2 dates you kiss, that sort of thing, I don’t want to be seen as an air-kiss slut)
These social intricacies are fraught with anxiety and always leave me sort of shifting uncomfortably in one spot wondering whether I just did the right thing and when I am going to be unmasked as the social leper that I am.
Then I quaff another glass of wine to try and hide my discomfort. Alcohol is the best social lubricant there is, but unfortunately people do tend to raise their eyebrows if you break out the booze at a kitchen tea/christening sort of soirée (One of the many reasons I am so incredibly grateful for book-glug)
It is all rather odd that I find these situations so difficult as I grew up on a staunch Afrikaans home, one of those where it is customary to kiss your parents (whether you are a boy or a girl). Where, according to my husband, he has to kiss my parents even when he just wants to go out for a smoke break.
I am convinced that Someone up there has a sick sense of humour, because, along with my social inadequacies I am an extrovert. I have no qualms on speaking to strangers, heck given half a chance I would strike up a conversation with a broomstick-just as long as that broomstick doesn’t try and touch me.
Maybe this discomfort is borne out of that fact that I find it truly difficult to believe that people find me interesting and even worth while taking the time to spend time with me. I am deeply distrustful and confess that most of the time spent with others I secretly ponder what it is that they really want from me? This is why blogging was so appealing to me. What I am unable to say, I can write about. Even if no-one reads it, it is out there and I don’t live quite as much in my head as I would normally do (it is quite a scary place to be on any given day).
But I digress…
What I really wondered about, is how does, someone like me, make sure that my son does not end up with the same issues?