Being a human is weird and awkward – but I’ve learned to embrace and laugh about it | Deirdre Fidge

After a lifetime cursed with awkward social interactions, learning to take myself less seriously has been a wonderful gift

I’ve gotten to know my postman. Being home during the day means I’m there to answer the door and exchange chit-chat. Sometimes about the weather, sometimes about my dogs who greet him with unfortunate stereotypical anger. Occasionally, I’ll pass him in the street and we wave or smile. How nice … in theory. Somehow, in every instance there is an awkwardness, a palpably tense energy of a high school play where someone is doing their best but keeps flubbing a line, standing off-mark or having their wig fall off.

Postman Pat (not his real name) visited my house once not to deliver mail but to borrow a doggy bag to clean up a large deposit left beside a nearby postbox. We stumbled through a mixture of disgusted remarks and jokes about how large the dog must have been before I slipped over running to the cupboard and shoved three bags into his hand. “I really only need one, Miss,” he said politely, so I reached out and our hands clumsily smooshed into a plasticky high-five. Another time, he delivered a lightweight package. “What is this?” I wondered aloud. “It feels like an empty wine bottle!” he replied, and we stood there chuckling at nothing. I then remembered the curse.

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