The Kissing Conundrum

It’s happened again.

How is it possible that five seconds into a conversation I have already managed to make an idiot of myself? I’ll tell you how it’s possible. It’s the greeting, that’s how. For the life of me, I just can’t get the hang of it in this country.

I know, I know. What’s to “get,” right? It’s a simple “Hello!” and “How’ve you been?” or “Good to see you!” It might come with a handshake or a pat on the back. With children, it often involves a muss of the hair. There’s the hug or perhaps the “side hug” (if hands are otherwise occupied or perhaps a full on hug seems too invasive), and then of course, there’s the kiss.

Me, I’m a hugger. When I say hello, my instinct is to give you a hug – even if I don’t know you that well. I have no problem wrapping my arms around you and giving you a little squeeze. If we don't hug, our initial conversation feels awkward to me – like we’ve missed a step. I’m a hugger. And I think Americans, in general, are huggers. We hug. But outside of America, there is a lot of kissing going on.

South Africa is full of kissers. Which is fine with me, really. It’s great. It feels very “posh.” Here’s my problem though – everyone has a different style of kissing. It could be on the cheek. On both cheeks. Or even on the mouth. Any and all of these would be fine – except you never know what you’re gonna get. You might offer someone the right cheek, but then they go in for the left too. This leads to an awkward mid-greeting pause in which you reposition and quickly extend your other cheek while pretending that the transaction has gone smoothly. And the opposite is just as awkward. You offer both cheeks but they only wanted one, so you’re left standing there with one cheek shoved towards them but they’ve already moved on to give a one-cheeked kiss to someone who probably knows better than to offer both cheeks.

Then of course there is the lip to lip kiss, which is inevitably the style of kissing favored by the person whose lips you’d least like to touch. And if you offer them a cheek but they want the lips, it results in a strange sort of half-cheek-half-lips exchange in which the lip-kisser may feel slighted that you gave them a cheek when they wanted the lips. Geesh.

In order to avoid awkwardness, I try to keep a mental list of what style of kissing is preferred by my various friends and acquaintances. Frank: lips/hug combo. Jane: double-cheek. Rick: one-cheek/half-hug. All of this can be difficult to keep track of, which leads me to a critical question: Why am I trying so hard to accommodate someone else’s kissing style instead of forcing my own style upon them?

This is probably not the time or place to explore my pathetic need to please and accommodate, but let me just say, in my own defense, that I have actually tried to force my hugs on people, but it never works like it’s supposed to.

For example, just yesterday, we went to the airport to pick up Roger’s sister and brother-in-law from Scotland. I see my brother-in-law and throw my arms open, leaning to the left as I pull him to me. Only he’s going for the double-cheek kiss, and while I’m moving in for the hug, he kisses my right cheek. He then pulls back slightly to reposition so that he can kiss my left cheek too. Looking back, I realize that this is the point where I too should have pulled back slightly and kissed his left cheek. But I’m still committed to the hug, so although he’s trying to kiss the left side of my face, all he’s getting is the right. The missed kiss has put us at an awkward angle and to avoid bumping noses we have both turned our heads so that suddenly my right cheek is pressed up against his left. We look like we are trying to tango.

The interchange feels like it’s happening in slow motion. Never has a greeting gone so wrong. I keep replaying the train wreck in my mind. It’s all I can think about despite the fact that my brother-in-law – who I haven’t seen in four years – is standing in front of me. The right questions are coming out of my mouth: “How was your flight?” and “Do you have all your bags?” but all I can think about is that I am a complete and total idiot who doesn’t even know how to greet a family member.

But feeling like an idiot has become my natural state. In fact, I often think I should participate in a scientific study to determine exactly how much of any given day I spend feeling like a moron. The findings would be shocking, I’m sure. Off the charts. Logically, I know that I am not an idiot, and yet for some reason, I feel like I’m perpetually saying and doing the inappropriate thing. Let me assure you that this is nothing new, but in America, I felt like my foibles were often perceived as charming and quirky. Here…not so much.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re probably right. Obsessing about a botched greeting can’t be healthy. In fact, I’m sure my obsessive nature is probably a “condition” with a name ending with “syndrome” or “disorder,” but before anyone calls the psychiatrist, let me point out that were it not for my obsessive nature and my profound ability to overanalyze pretty much everything, I just wouldn’t be me, and what fun would that be? Would you really tune in to hear about some normal chick’s observations on Africa? Probably not. So while I may be mildly disordered, I think I’m getting to a point in my life where I can accept it as just part of who I am.

That being said, please do me a favor. When next we meet, just give me a hug, okay? I’ve simply got too many other trivial things to obsess about…