me, myself and i

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I often find myself to be a tad confusing. Hugging is one example of this. I used to think that I was a good hugger, that I like hugging, that I even excelled in the Art of Hugging, but I now realise I am a rubbish hugger, more likely to win an award for running away from a pair of approaching arms than to win an award for being the Best Hugger Ever!! Hugging is such an invasion of personal space. But at the same time, it's also an act which creates a cosy and warm feeling of loveliness and loveableness. I have no problems giving big fat *huggles* to Mumsy, Husband, Baby Brother or Baby Niece, but with anyone else it feels awkward and contrived. With other people I can even do the hand on shoulder, peck on cheek scenario, but again, the circle of folk with whom I allow myself this is only slightly larger than the people I hug, and sometimes it becomes non-existent. So you can imagine my horror on Saturday. I psyched myself up for a barbecue with friends. I drank a teeny bit of vodka to enable me to socialise with people I'm not entirely familiar with. I had a fabulous time with friends; there was laughter, higgledy-piggledy fun, gossip, food and then more laughter. And then it was time to go ... And knowing how utterly uncomfortable I am with hugs, my Beautiful Italian and my Purple Butterfly both pounced on me, arms wrapped tightly, big splodgy kisses raining down on my cheeks. With friends like them I really have no need for any enemies. *smile*