25 July 2008
i hug funny. i know this. i am known for this.
at breakfast, MJ spouted off on how he wanted a "real" hug. not one of my side hugs, but a manly hug. i did my best to whip out a paul bunyon bearhug. i failed.
MJ has always called me out on the side hug. within his idolatrous adoration there exist two realms of criticism. my love life and the side hug and i'm pretty sure that in his mind they are inextricably linked. if my love life was a freakshow, the side hug was undoubtedly to blame.
much to his horror, MJ's youngest daughter has started doing this. hugging him from the side. he gave me his best men are from mars look and asked me, why?! why?! as though the university of chicago might've bestowed upon me some great hegelian answer to explain the gender hug divide.
the first thing to come into my refined, publicly intellectual mind?
right? we do this because of boobs. or at least i have always done this because of boobs and speaking for my entire gender i'm going to go out on a very precarious, self-aware limb and say all other girls in the world who do this do this because of boobs.
because in a hug, they are undeniably there. boobs. in the center of everything. all up in everyone's business. this works very much to our advantage in instances with certain someones, but in most (for example, with older, father-figure-like, black men) it is awkward.
so i said it. i leaned back in my chair, looking wise and noble and impossibly pulled together for someone who had been up late the night before and had yet to have a shower or caffeine. i looked into the questioning eyes of my old boss and offered the answer of every 12-year-old boy: boobs.
i don't know that he'll ever recover.