The Unavoidable Handshake

I am not a germaphobe, although I think most of my friends would not agree. The lessons I learned from my mother when I started kindergarten--don't drink after anyone, don't put things in your mouth, wash your hands immediately with vigor after touching this or that--loomed large and apparently made a lasting impression.
That's why for some time now I've been struggling with a way to avoid the unavoidable, the handshake. I've had far too many hands offered to me after catching wet sneezes, dog slobber, crotch scratchin', and so on. You would think my lack of enthusiam to shaking hands after such displays would be obvious but that doesn't seem to be the case.

I hate it when I'm in a restaurant and someone comes up to my table to say hello, then offers me their hand. I am always shocked at that. Conversely, when I go over to someone's table and they offer me their hand I want to say, "You know, I just cleaned the restaurant's bathroom with this hand..." I don't do that because I'm afraid it wouldn't matter.

I know it feels good to shake hands after closing a business deal, re-connecting with an old acquaintance or when meeting a celebrity while waiting to board a flight. A handshake, like a warm hug, can be uplifting. It's just that I'm not ready to have to walk around with a bottle of hand sanitizer in my pocket.