There are two types of men: men who hold hands and men who don't. I should clarify that: men who hold hands with women and men who hold hands only under extreme duress. Well, that duress can be desperate groundwork, which is the excuse one of my bike-riding mates put up when my wife triumphantly spied him holding hands with his wife last Sunday morning.
Isn't he, she cried in glee, a real man! So real men do hold hands! Maybe you're not a real man at all!
Who wouldn't wince under such a barrage?
In my column in The Herald today I describe the sort of men who hold hands and the sort of men who don't, and I'll be surprised if you can't find yourself or your man in there somewhere.
Men who hold hands, for example, go for coffee and cake on Sunday mornings with the woman in their life. She's seldom his wife, by the way, because his wife has traded him in on a real man. They like moonlit walks. And picnics. And they say "love you" at the end of phone conversations.
Men who don't hold hands include those who fix things, and have a shed, and open jars when the missus can't, and have mastered the art of blowing the contents of one nostril then the other to earth. And it's entirely natural, and thus excusable, that these same men feel the need occasionally to adjust themselves. Men who hold hands never have such a need, which is why they're free to hold hands.
How do you see the difference between hand holders and real men?
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