Apparently, I'm Dainty...

I just had one of those moments that, every time I think about it, I get shivers of embarrassment. Dang-it! Here's what happened:

There's this guy who is an assistant coach on Landon's baseball team. So we're both assistant coaches. Great. The guy, we'll call him Steve, is about as intimidating looking as you can be. His head is shaved, he has a tatoo, his goatee is four inches long, his ears are pierced. Steve really, really looks like he should be driving a huge Harley to every game (maybe he has one, I don't know...).

But the thing is- he's as nice a guy as you'd want coaching your son. He is very positive with the kids, he doesn't show any favoritism, and he takes a lot of time to teach the basics of baseball. Very likable guy. But he looks really, really, really tough. He doesn't just look tough; I'm sure he is tough. But nice, too.

So, after the game (which we won, by the way...) my family is walking to our vehicles, and Steve is walking with us. All of the sudden he puts his hand up, like he is either going to slap my five, or shake my hand. But, it isn't going to be a normal handshake. It is going to be one of those handshakes you do if you are naturally tough. The guys in the picture belowe are doing it (I think). Maybe they're arm-wrestling, but this is the basic idea:



Typically, this handshake is used by people playing sports, or people in gangs, or people who are confidant. The handshake is sometimes followed up by bumping knuckles. I'm sure this is what Steve was doing, because he is the type of person who should do it. And I've always thought I was, too. Until now.

I think the handshake caught my off guard. So, rather than smack my hand up against his and do that one-squeeze-and-one-shake-let-go-then-bump-knuckles thing, I barely got my hand into position. In fact, I really didn't get my hand into position. So instead of having an equally balanced, man-handshake, I placed my small, soft, dainty hand in a lady-like position as if Steve was helping me out of my horse-drawn carriage so I wouldn't trip over my long, velvet dress. It looked a lot like this:



And this...



What made matters worse was that my wife saw, my children probably saw, and Steve looked at me like I expected him to bow, say, "m'Lady" and kiss my pasty-white, smallish, un-caloused hand. I couldn't fix it. I tried. The handshake was over.

Luckliy he didn't say anything, but man do I wonder what he was thinking. Or is thinking. Every time I picture my little hand in the upright, lady-like, please-help-my-so-I-don't-stumble-out-of-my-carriage-and-tear-my-corset position I want to puke.

How can I go to practice tomorrow?