Disclaimer: If this post is not my usual horndog-driven, sarcastic rant, please blame it on Spring Fever. I've got it bad.
Did you know that when you get hugged, there’s a whole crapload of endorphins that get released in your system? I’m not talking about those “hello, how are you?” cheesy back-pats that you do with people. The real, gentle squeeze, arms wrapped around you hugs – they naturally make you feel all warm and happy inside, regardless of who’s hugging you.
This is old news, but I realized that ever since my last long-term relationship, I don’t get hugged enough by guys. I know that me walking around with a “free hugs” sign (like Esco made for his junior mack daddy Godson [see above], but that’s a whole ‘nother story) is not the wisest thing to do, but sometimes I just want to be squeezed, for pete’s sake. By a person who genuinely wants to give me some affection.
The thing is, I’m not used to real hugs anymore, except for from my mom and pop, who are award-winning huggers. My friend Ann hugs really well, too. She’s got these huge knockers that she practically suffocates people with. It sounds upsetting, but it’s really quite comforting.
Anyway, I’ve had some light-headed, knock-me-out-of-the-park, take-me-now, Hollywood type of kisses recently, but where are the hugs? A grope does NOT count, and I should know because I have a PhD in Grope-ology.
A friend of mine, Will, (I really need to start getting more ethnic with my code names, I know) and I were hanging out this weekend. He’s very sweet, a great conversationalist and full of life – not to mention this tall, lanky build that I’ve recently grown fond of. As he and I parted ways, I reached for a customary kiss on the cheek and he grabbed me up and hugged me. I was caught a bit off guard, but hugging really is like riding a bike. So I wrapped my arms around him and let him squeeze me for a few moments.
We, as women, get so caught up in the technicalities of “how physically intimate am I going to get?” (because you know that’s completely in our control, ladies) that we forget the fluffy stuff sometimes. The hugs, the holding hands, arms draped around the waist, hands in the back pocket cutesy type of stuff. Of course, there are different levels of comfort when it comes to expressing affection, but really – who doesn’t like a hand in the back pocket?
So this new guy, is he a romantic prospect, the panel (my girlfriends) is inquiring…I don’t know. See, it’s kind of tricky because my friend reference in this situation was a little too positive. Yea, this is a guy one of my acquaintances used to date (a while ago), so I have to have a sit-down with her. But I want to see if this guy’s even worth the sit-down, first.
He’s got these sweet, puppy dog eyes. Remember back in the day when we used to believe that the eyes reflected upon his character? That "windows to the soul" theory is well - out the window, now. One scum-bucket with honest eyes had to go and ruin it for everyone (ahem, Andre). Wow, I think that’s the first time I’ve sunk low enough to call my ex a bucket of scum to the public. I must be over him, and slightly thicker-skinned, thanks to this blog a.k.a. “my free therapy”.
Oh, and the readers, of course, without whom I’d just be very, very cranky. This is where I have the urge to type in all caps, “you complete me!” but I’ll save the sap for the next time I hang with Will, when I just might squeeze his beanstalk body to pieces. Yes, I'm overzealous, but hugs are the new kiss, people. You heard it here first.