Please Don't Touch Me There

Can we talk about hand holding?
And how incredibly uncomfortable this makes me?
According to everyone else in the world, this makes me some sort of cold hearted monster, but I just don't want you to touch me there.
Are you my boyfriend? No. I just met you! I don't even know your middle name, or that I even like you yet! We just had an awkward couple of beers and now we're walking. Down the street. And you grab my hand like it ain't no thang.
But it is, it really is. Especially since you are 5'6 (And that's actually pretty generous. I even wore flats in preparation for this date, but it didn't help as much as we had both hoped) and that is just so short. I wish it didn't matter, but it does. I have a couple of preferences that occasionally clash with my feminist ideals, and having a tall man is one of them. My personality is large enough, I do not want my body to also be larger then you. How will you pick me up and spin me around, a la Dirty Dancing?
So you grab my hand. You want this to be very natural and fun, this walking around, 'la la la, what a lovely stroll we are having this evening!'  Instead you grasp desperately, clammily at me like I might run. Which is possible at this point.
Now we walk for the next ten minutes, arms awkwardly swinging back and hands wrestling to adjust to something that might feel comfortable. Mr. Financial Advisor, you are a very nice man. But why did you have to touch me there?
What is it about this forced intimacy that nice guys think is okay?
You might say: "Hey crazy person, hand holding is not that big of a deal. You are being a little bit nuts."
To that I say, "Shut up."
And listen, hand holding is wonderful. I love to hold me some hands, okay? But don't force it! Just let it happen naturally! If the date is not going well, or I'm taking a little time to warm up, GRABBING MY HAND is a terrible idea.
Mr. Polite (Or Mr. Ballsless, which is the preferred title now) tried to hold my hand once. We were sitting in a dark theater, watching a play, and he looked at me and pushed his hand over his chair rest onto mine.
And I laughed.
Okay, good example of why I am horrible on dates sometimes.
But before you judge too harshly, ask me what the play was about. Go on.
It was about NAZIS. I'm not in the hand holdy mood when I'm watching a play about genocide. Should I be? Is this a normal thing?

So Mr. Financial Advisor is a no go. And not because he is a cast member of Darby O' Gill and the little people short man. Because we had absolutely nothing to talk about, and he wanted to take me home and make me a quesadilla. And I'm pretty sure he meant that literally. He didn't want to have sex, he really wanted to make me some college guy mexican food.
Also, when we walked past the Castle store on Capital Hill, he made some comment about how that store was for people that wanted to dress up as Knights and Princesses.
I gently informed him that was not the case.