I always get thrown off when people greet me in that “American” way of thrusting their hand at me, grasping mine, and waggling it up and down, or if I know them well, a brief hug.
It isn’t not that I’m never not a not-unaffectionate guy. I like to belch loudly before stripping naked and pelting them with chunks of moose meat and bottles of beer. Yes, even my guy friends (if they don’t drink the beer first, which usually they do).
But this is Canada. And when it comes to that uptight hand-shaking thing, it’s my feeling that back-bacon-eating, beer-swilling hosers fought the Americans in 1812 so we didn’t have to greet people in that I’m-a-good-ol’-boy-but-don’t-throw-meat-at-me manner.
Basically, someone lunging at me with their hand is bound to elicit a singular, visceral response. Especially if the individual is female. And if said individual gets upset because they didn’t expect to end up with a handful of moose meat, I’ll simply say, “Look, eh, I respect your traditions for welcoming friends and acquaintances, and I expect you to–whoo hoo! Beer!”