Several summers ago I had a fling with a guy who was a huge hugger. I’m not a huge hugger.

Believe it or not our different views on hugging became a big issue for our little, short-lived relationship. It seemed that I couldn’t hug the right way and every time he went for a squeeze it ended in some kind of lecture on my inappropriate hugging behavior.

Apparently when I hug I’m too far away from the other person (arms extended and butt out) and I do the pat. You know, my arms are resting on his lower back and right about the time I’m ready for the hug to end I give a good pat, pat, pat to signal that I’m done.

He hated it. Every time it was: “Don’t pat me. You’re like a grandma!”

I’m not a grandma; I just think hugs are overrated. I come from a loving family and great group of friends, but I don’t need a hug to prove I care. Maybe it’s because I’m tall and I have to bend my neck all goofy to fit on most men’s shoulders. Or, maybe it’s just because I’m not all that affectionate and in times of physical attention I become uncomfortable and don’t know what else to do, other than to give a good pat.

Well this guy couldn’t take it. He didn’t end the fling because of a hug, but I’m sure that’s what he remembers me for. The “back patter”… oh no!

For what it’s worth, I’d much rather be a bad hugger than bad at other things.