Originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.
Last Wednesday, I went to a Mohja Kahf poetry reading at Mudraker’s in Berkeley (it was rocking, by the way!), and ended up seeing some old buddies and making a couple of new friends. One guy I shook hands with towards the end of the evening exclaimed, “You have a really firm handshake!”
I laughed. “I get that a lot.”
His friend said, surprised, “Oh, yeah?”
“Here, I’ll shake your hand, too, so you can see.” So, I did.
“I have to compensate for my short height in some way, you know,” I joked. “At least I have strong handshakes.”
A few minutes later, the first hand-shaker asked curiously, “How old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
He thought about it for a minute, then confessed, “I can’t really tell. You’re short.”
Someday, I will grow up to be tall, and Hashim will stop making basketball-related jokes at my expense, bastid. One can only hope. Meanwhile, I’m content with lots of fist-shaking.