Hi-Five, America.

Americans love to Hi-Five. Even when they do it with full ironic awareness, I'm pretty sure the majority of their being is indulging entirely in the cheesy exuberance of hand-slapping expression.

I hate to hi-five.

My reasons for this are as follows:
1. I'm not American
2. I'm not stupid
3. I'm fairly introvert and such demonstrations of enthusiasm make me uncomfortable

To combat this, and because it's funny, I developed an anti-hi-five tactic: when faced with an expectant hand saluting before me, I extend my hand at normal hand-shaking level and offer to shake. 'I'm British', I say. I don't do Hi-Fives.

Americans hate this.

For a while I found it pretty funny - and I assumed that they got the humour. I knew they were disconcerted, but I figured they'd just chalk it up to me and my dry British wit. However, this fourth of July weekend (the only time they ever say the date that way around, which is my reason for celebrating) I was told in no uncertain terms that in refusing to hi-five I am being rude and stand-offish and downright un-fun. OK the person doing the telling had been drinking since 7am, but I tend to believe the kernels of truth that come from alcohol loosened tongues.

Dry British humour bellyflops again.

(Or maybe they could just see through it to the fact that I hate hi-fiving and it's all a bluff.)

So I have to find a new technique for Hi-Five coping. Because believe me they appear at the most unexpected moments and from the most unexpected wrists.

My options as I see them are to either half halfheartedly indulge the Americans, whilst letting them know that I do not in anyway enjoy it. Or to irony the heck out of the situation and conjure up more enthusiasm and hi-fiving vigour than you'd find in High School Musical. I think the latter is far more funny. I think knowing me there's no way I'm capable of pulling it off. A future of reluctant hi-fives it is.